


Banish the Hope

by IngridBeast



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Forgotten Realms, Original Work
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Background Character Death, Consensual, Consensual Sex, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-10-22 04:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10690158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IngridBeast/pseuds/IngridBeast
Summary: The half-elven Bard Willhelmer Faye set out to join a group of adventurers, in the hopes of earning some dearly needed cash on a quest to find an ancient relic hidden somewhere in the Sword Coast, but didn't expect to find himself in love.This is the background story for my Dungeons & Dragons bard.





	1. Colourful Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is looking to join a group of adventurers, but things take a turn he hadn't seen coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Turnstone Road on an autumn day  
> I saw him first and knew  
> That his dark hair would weave a snare  
> That I might one day rue  
> I saw the danger, and I passed  
> Along the enchanted way  
> And I said let grief be a fallen leaf  
> At the dawning of the day
> 
> \- Revised version of Patrick Kavanagh's On Ragland Road

Light from the fireplace danced around the shape of a dragon’s skull mounted on the wall, casting grizzly shadows in stark contrast to the merry atmosphere of the Dragonback Inn. Will had just finished a high tempo reel on his fiddle and was taking a quick breather while rosining his bow. It was a good crowd tonight and earnings were far better here than the last town he played in. He was pretty sure all those silvers and coppers would amount to at least one gold.

Taking a small sip from the small cup of wine he had been graciously given by the white whiskered dwarf behind the counter, he cast another glance towards the adventuring party by the big table next to the fireplace. He had seen them earlier on in the market district, pouches heavy with gold, and claymores forged with swirling blood red patterns. He had casually followed them around the corner where they entered the inn. Having no shame in the world, he did the same; after all, if nothing else came of his endeavours, he could always earn some coin and save himself from wasting an evening.

He knew the half-orc leader, Mardosha, by sheer renown: her charismatic leadership and head for strategy wasn’t exactly a common trait among her kind, and their roads had crossed briefly before further south. He had just arrived in Baldur’s gate when she was leading her band, the Crimson Claymores, out on a quest to kill two trolls who had settled down near Cloak Wood, and news of their success was the talk of the town when he reached Elturel. When he spotted them again here in Daggerford, he couldn’t let the chance to get a little closer to them slip.

He took another sip of wine. The atmosphere had changed somewhat. Perhaps it was the cold wind that had accompanied the group of people who entered just moments before, or that two thirds of the room seemed to have had their meals served. Whatever it was, it was not the time for a tempestuous slip-jig. He looked at his fiddle, changed his mind and picked up the lute instead. He made sure it was in tune and started the plucking of strings that would lead him into “Turnstone Road”, one of his favourite ballads.  
  
_“On Turnstone Road on an autumn day_

 _I saw her first and knew”_  
  
Some heads turned, eyes looking up from steaming bowls of mutton and gravy, and the contented nods and mouths trying to smile without spilling said gravy confirmed his hunch to have been a good one.  
  
_“That her dark hair would weave a snare_

 _That I might one day rue”_  
  
He took in the crowd: the group of dwarves in the left corner, the human couple so engulfed in each other they took no notice of the halfling nicking the extra bread they were served with their stew, the thieving halfling’s friends passing out coins in what could only be the result of a bet, a big group of young humans clearly gathered for some ale and chatter at the end of a long work day, the newly arrived group who had settled down by the table near the bar and among them a pair of strikingly bright, hazel eyes looking straight at him from under locks of oaky brown hair.  
  
_“I saw the danger, and I passed_

 _Along the enchanted way”_  
  
He was caught completely off guard by the intensity of that short eye contact, and nearly missed a beat, but let his gaze quickly dart back to Mardosha and her crew. _Eyes on the target, lad!_

“And I said let grief be a fallen leaf”, he continued, but couldn’t help himself, stealing another peek back towards the party by the bar. The hazel-eyed human was still staring as intently at him as before, a muscle twitching under the dark stubble of his tanned cheek as their eyes met again. His pulse fluttered. This was very inconvenient.

 _“At the dawning of the day”_  
  
Will quickly noted that the human was accompanied by a varied mix of travel companions; a gnome in wizard robes who already looked rednosed and bleary eyed, a blonde wood elf in a finely crafted leather armour who looked very unexcited about the bowl in front of her, a dour faced dwarf lady in plate mail, and next to her sat what looked like a Rashemen warrior straight out of ‘Tales of the Tundra’.  
  
_“On Tower Street in Marpenoth_

_We tripped lightly along the ledge”_

  
He noticed ‘hazel-eyes’ still looking at him in his peripheral vision, and averted his gaze downwards to avoid eye-contact again.  
  
_“Of a deep ravine where can be seen_

 _The worth of passion’s pledge”_  
  
He was intrigued, but yet again tore himself out of the distraction only to find the Crimson Claymores getting up and making for the door like a pack of blood hounds having caught a scent. His mind conjured a tirade of swear words, making him nearly spit out the the second part of the verse.  
  
_“The Queen of Hearts still making tarts_

_And I not making hay_

_Oh I loved too much and by such_

_By such is happiness thrown away”_

He couldn’t very well up and leave in the middle of a song, and even if he did, there were few better ways of making himself look like a complete git than running after a troupe of adventurers like some hopeful youthling. He had no choice but to play on, and turned back to his still present audience, somewhat bitter. The group of humans seemed to be listening intently, he observed, and he steered his focus back into the song.  
  
_“On a quiet street where old ghosts meet_

 _I see her walking now”_  
  
He could feel himself drawn to look back towards the fellow by the bar, and tried to resist the temptation.  
  
_“Away from me so hurriedly_

_My reason must allow”_

He failed.

_“That had I loved not as I should_

_A creature made of clay”_  
  
Eyes meeting again, the stranger’s lips slightly parting as they did.

_“When the angel woos the clay_

_He'd lose his wings at the dawn of day”_  
  
The applause at the end of the song snapped him out of it. He knew he wouldn’t be able to focus much if he played on, so he did a flourished bow and swung the lute on his back. He knelt down to pack the fiddle into its box, and as he did, he heard the clinking of some more coins being dropped into the hat on the floor. He looked up. He looked taller up close and there was green mixed in with the hazel.  
  
“Dorian Brightwood,” he said, his voice a resonant baritone, a tentative smile on his lips. His very kissable lips. _Get a grip, Will!_  
  
“Willhelmer Faye” Will replied, “or Will Rattlepike,” he corrected himself, then realised how stupid that probably sounded.  
  
“Whichever you prefer, really. The perks of having a stage name, I guess,” he chuckled, and could feel the blush spreading on his face, while a proper smile spread on Dorian’s. It was a smile that could break up thunder clouds. It did in no way make him less red-faced.  
  
“Well, Will Whichever-You-Prefer,” Dorian teased, “would you like to join us for a drink?” He indicated towards the table by the bar. He knew he should probably say no, that this wasn’t the adventurers he had imagined himself joining, but then he realised he had already said yes without thinking, so he simply picked up the hat and followed Dorian.  
  
“Felinthriel,” Dorian began, addressing the elf, “This is Will,” he looked at Will as if to make sure he’d said the right thing and Will gave a short nod to Felinthriel as confirmation.  
  
“Will, Felinthriel is generally considered to be in charge of our group, although Tophler there,” he indicated towards the clearly intoxicated gnome, who seemed to have trouble keeping his eyes open and his head up, “might have argued the toss if he wasn’t utterly plastered.” That got a snigger from the dwarf who had been contentedly eating her stew and the elf smirked. The Rashemi was quiet. Tophler was blissfully ignorant where he now lay with his face smooshed on the table, hand still on the big flagon in front of him.  
  
“Kithra Stonehelm,” the dwarf said with her mouth half full. “And this is Borrðir. He doesn’t say much,” Kethra continued and Borrðir grunted.

“Why don’t you join us, Will?” Felinthriel’s voice was deeper than he had expected, and friendlier. He always felt a little wary around elves. His father had left his human mother while he was still too young to remember, and he grew up surrounded by humans. He bore no hate towards his father’s kin, but he had experienced everything from loathing to indifference from them, but rarely kindness. He also looked mostly Illuskan with his fair, freckled skin and his fiery ginger hair, his pointed ears the only obvious tell-tale of elven lineage, which somehow seemed to irk some pure-blooded elves even more, as if it made him twice the affront to them. But Felinthriel showed no signs of contempt, so he accepted her offer and sat down.

“So, you’re adventurers? What brings you to Daggerford?” Will’s question prompted a look between Kithra and Felinthriel. Kithra raised her eyebrows as if to say ‘go on’, and Felinthriel turned her attention back to Will.  
  
“Indeed. We are searching for a Stonehelm heirloom. It was stolen many years ago and now we intend to reclaim it.” There was a light in the dark brown eyes of the elf as she spoke, as if what she had just told was deeply personal, and then she gave an affectionate, yet worried smile to her dwarven companion. For the first time since he had approached them Will glanced over at Dorian, who for once wasn’t looking at him, but at Kithra. He looked sad and full of compassion.  
  
“Willhelmer…? Willhelmer Rattlepike?” The thin, female voice came from behind him. Somewhat startled, Will spun around, throwing his arm onto the back of his chair, feeling his elbow connect with something. Behind him stood a young, human woman in her early twenties, ash blonde hair curling charmingly around her round face, and ale from the flagon she was holding all over her chest, trickling down her cleavage, soaking her blouse and bodice. She looked utterly mortified. Will was on his feet instantly.  
  
“I-I’m so sorry,” she muttered, chest heaving. Will stepped close to her, putting on his most charming smoulder.  
  
“Why on earth are you apologizing, sweet one? This was entirely my fault.” He looked down at her wet skin.  
  
“Please, allow me,” and then, looking up at her again, he gently pronounced the arcane words and did the quick hand gestures needed to cast a Prestidigitation spell, cleaning up the mess he’d made, and, just because he could, added a few twinkling sparks for effect. The woman’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped a little, a visible blush spreading on her face.  
  
“I… I just wanted to ask…” She was stuttering nervously and he noticed a quill and piece of paper in her other hand.

“Did you want this-” he didn’t even manage to finish the sentence before she started nodding fiercely. He gave her the warmest smile he could conjure and took the paper and quill she was offering. Just as he was about to mention ink, she pulled a little bottle out of a small box she’s stored in her leather pouch. He looked at the paper. It was part of an old poster from a gig he had done at a small summer festival in Secomber nearly a year back, his name listed among other entertainers. He knew he had a small fanbase scattered across the Sword Coast, most of them women, but it always surprised him when one approached him.

“What’s your name, darling?” He looked back up at her.  
  
“Marna,” she answered, so quickly one would have thought she was afraid he’d change his mind if she didn’t say it fast enough.

‘Dear Marna - May your life be as sweet as your lovely self!

With love,

Willhelmer Rattlepike’  
  
His writing was crisp, yet swirly, and when he handed it all back to Marna, she looked for a moment like she would faint. She didn’t. Instead she mouthed a ‘Thank you’, backed up two steps, then darted off to her friends sitting two tables away waiting for her.  
  
He shook his head a little, and sat back down at the table.  
  
“I’m terribly sorry. Fans, you know." The whole party was looking at him (except for Tophler who wasn’t looking at anyone) with interest.

“So, you’re not just an entertainer, you’re a _bard,_ ” Felinthriel asked, but it sounded more like a statement. Will felt himself grow an inch with pride. 

“Indeed,” he confirmed, “I have a few tricks up my sleeve; a bit of healing, some minor illusions and a whole lot of stinging insults only reserved for people who irk me spectacularly.” He smirked smugly.

“Hmm. Dorian really does know how to find them,” the elf remarked. Will’s expression must have changed, because she quickly added “sorry, I should explain.” Dorian looked away awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Firstly, Dorian was the one who found Tophler. And while Toph is a fine wizard when it matters, he can also be…” Tophler, as if to make a point, offered up a big burp, smacked his lips and mumbled something indecipherable, “well, _that_ ,” Felinthriel simply said.  
  
“We also had another companion, Dayanira, another magic user, a druid. Dorian recruited her while we were down south. She was very useful, could turn into a giant black cat and all. However, she left us to continue her own personal pilgrimage.” The elf’s voice sounded a little bitter, but not resentful.

“So, when Dorian spotted you, I suspected you might be another magic wielder, and I had him bring you over so we could find out. I hope you don’t take offence, but… we could use someone like you.” She looked utterly sincere, almost pleading. He thought of Mardosha and where her crew of Claymores might be now. They would never have accepted him anyway. He was far too inexperienced and they would most likely only consider him a burden, not an asset. He looked at Dorian who now sat with his fist pressed up against his lips and nose, and who quickly averted his eyes when Will looked at him. He wondered what it would feel like having those lips press up against his skin and he could feel his mind cloud. A quick intake of breath and a bit of blinking seemed to clear the fog, and he turned back to Felinthriel.

“Sure! Why not? I could use some excitement in my life!” He didn’t dare look back, but he could almost feel Dorian look at him again and his heart beating faster in his chest.

“Wonderful!” Felinthriel had Borrðir peel Tophler off the table.

“Best get some rest,” she added, “we ride at dawn.”


	2. A Rough Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will sets out with his new company in high spirits, but things don't go exactly as he had imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Tower Street in Marpenoth  
> We tripped lightly along the ledge  
> Of a deep ravine where can be seen  
> The worth of passion’s pledge
> 
> \- Revised version of Patrick Kavanagh's On Raglan Road

They had a pony saddled up for him when he came out of the Inn with all of his belongings. He didn't own much and it all fit in his medium sized backpack if he strapped the fiddle case on the top of it and the lute to the back of it. He was used to walking and traveling light, so he went by the rule of bare necessities. Now, he was offered a saddle bag big enough to fit almost all of it, and Dorian offered to take his backpack (which now only contained his lute). He strapped the fiddle case to his back and mounted, his hand still tingling where Dorian’s fingers had brushed over his when he handed him the backpack. He had noticed the amulet depicting a winding road towards a brilliant sunrise Dorian was wearing for the first time too, marking him a cleric of Lathander. Will had very little ties to the gods or religion. He knew the street performers and theatre troupe he grew up among would always honour Milil with offerings of art, morning dances and songs, but aside from some of these small traditions and rituals having imprinted themselves as part of how he led his life on a daily basis, he had never really contemplated the gods or the impact of religion in his life.

There was some bickering behind them, and Will turned to spot Tophler, surprisingly unmarked by his state the night before, bickering with Felinthriel about sitting in front of her in the saddle of her horse. It actually seemed to get a little heated and then Toph shouted at Kithra something about not wanting to have him rub up against him all day and everyone went quiet. Will was utterly confused. Dorian looked horrified and glared at Tophler with disgust. Borrðir wore an expression of deep disappointment and slowly shook his head. Felinthriel, however, had gone pale, the hint of green in her skin showing more than usual, whilst Kithra grew a dark shade of red with fury in her eyes. She slowly approached Tophler in a surprisingly menacing way.

“If you want to continue to enjoy the privilege of traveling with us, you had better apologise. Right now. And you’ll ride with Borrðir so Feli won’t have to suffer your presence as we travel.” Kithra’s voice was disconcertingly calm, and Tophler’s expression shifted from defiance to uncertainty and finally defeat with a glimmer of regret.

“I’m sorry Feli. I shouldn’t have said that. I was way out of line. I apologise.” Will wasn’t too certain of the sincerity of his apology, but the worry in his eyes was very real. It would seem the gnome had his own reasons for being part of the party.

Will thought back on Felinthriel’s comment about the people Dorian had recruited the night before and how embarrassed Dorian had seemed to be, and it was starting to make a little more sense. While he was still unsure exactly what had just transpired, it didn’t take a scholar to understand that whatever Tophler had said was something deeply hurtful and totally uncalled for. _Best keep an eye on that one_ , he thought as he watched the gnome reluctantly climb into the saddle with Borrðir. 

Kithra was clearly still to angry to mount her pony, and Dorian had moved over to Felinthriel where he was speaking to her in a hushed, soothing voice, her hands in his. He seemed to squeeze them, then affectionately stroked her thigh as he looked up on her where she sat in her saddle. Will felt and unexpectedly painful stab of jealousy hit him right in the gut. It was so obvious and he felt like a complete idiot for not seeing it before. The way her and Dorian seemed to work together in such harmony, Felinthriel’s friendliness towards a half-breed such as himself. An elf who might very well find herself in the situation of producing such a half-breed would obviously have a very different perspective of things. He cursed under his breath. It wasn’t exactly the beginning of an adventure Will had expected.  
  
The first few hours passed in near silence, apart from the odd practicality such as ‘left at the fork’ and ‘pass the waterskin’. It was mid Mirtul, and as spring months went this one had proved to be a particularly mild one, but this particular day had surprised them with a bitter wind from the sea, and so when the clouds broke apart and allowed the midday sun free reigns, the warmth seemed to melt away some of the tension from the morning. And then Borrðir started to sing, his voice a deep, resonant bass forming words of a language unknown to the bard. It was a slow and haunting, yet beautiful song, and Will felt a warm affection for the strange warrior who stayed silent when others talked, and sang soothing melodies when everyone were quiet.

The following hours leading up to a short stop for some food had a lighter atmosphere and there was occasional talk, even a little laughter. Dorian, having spent most of the time riding alongside Felinthriel, halted his horse, letting Will catch up with him.

“I’m really sorry for the rough start today. How are you holding up?” He looked down from his horse at him and Will felt a little small where he was sitting on his pony (which was probably pretty large for Kithra, who usually rode it).  
  
“I’m fine. Well, I can tell it’s been a while since last I was in the saddle, but I’ll live.” They both chuckled, but it felt hollow.  
  
“Can I ask… what was all that about? I mean, I get that Toph was being an utter shitbag, but…” Dorian looked guarded, as if he was carefully contemplating exactly what to say.

“You can ask, but I’m not sure it is my right to answer. Suffice to say that Tophler made an incredibly low and petty blow, one none of us will be forgiving any time soon. To be fair, if we didn’t need him, he wouldn’t still be one of us.” For the first time, Will could see a glimmer of anger in him.

“And... Felinthriel? How is she?” He pretended to re-adjust the reins in his hand so he wouldn’t have to look at the cleric.

“She’s better now. Knowing everyone has her back helps. She’s been through enough to have to deal with this sort of rubbish from travel companions. I just want this whole quest to be over so we can part ways with the little shit.” If not for the realisation earlier, Will would have been surprised at the venom in Dorian’s voice. Another stab in his gut. He changed the subject.

“So, Lathander? How long have you been in the service of the Morning Lord?” A soft smile teased in the right-hand corner of Dorian’s mouth as he tilted his head back, the wind playing with the locks of his brown hair.

“Sometimes I think I always have been,” he mused, and then he looked down at Will again, radiating wistful joy. 

“I can’t remember not being drawn to the warmth of the sun, or marveling at the little wonders of life, or relishing the feeling that every dawn brings a fresh start, new chances.” His voice felt like silk against skin, his face painfully handsome in the sun, and Will was so overwhelmed by his own unexpected physical reaction to it, it was a small miracle that he managed to keep it together when Dorian’s thigh brushed ever so slightly against his upper arm.  
  
“Are you unwell?” Will mustered all his mental capacity to collect himself enough to answer.

“No, I… I just hadn’t expected such a beautiful answer,” he said, his voice somewhat unsteady. He took a gamble and looked back at the cleric and regretted it instantly, seeing him respond to his answer with that smile that could light up a night sky. He swallowed hard and re-positioned his hands, hoping against hope the increasingly distracting physical reaction would pass unnoticed.

“And you? What is the story behind Willhelmer, Bard Extraordinaire?” At any other time, Will would have been happy to indulge in one of his favourite topics; himself, but right now, he had more than enough trying to keep in control of his body and not look a complete fool whilst doing so.

“Short story; my elven father buggered off and half-breeds like me make fairly good entertainers of people’s fantasies and escapism.” He realised too late his words sounded more bitter than he had intended. True, his father had left his mother to fend for herself, penniless and with a baby to provide for, but his mother had never spoken ill of him in spite of it. And his childhood had been happy as part of the traveling band of entertainers his mother worked for; patching up and cleaning costumes, making food, and after a while taking care of all their financial paperwork. He had learned everything he could have hoped for about the business and laid the foundation of his career during those years.

He looked up at his dark-haired travel companion to find the teasing grin had vanished, replaced by a wary frown. Will could only imagine the thoughts running through Dorian’s head.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you,” he began, but Dorian broke him off from speaking further.

“It’s alright. You’re just being honest. I can’t fault you for that. And,” he cast a glance ahead towards Felinthriel, “you are within your right to be bitter. I’ve seen the less… charming side of your father’s kind.” There was sadness, layered with bitterness in his tone. It wouldn’t surprise Will if the relationship between the ranger and the cleric had ruffled some feathers, perhaps particularly among Felinthriel’s kin. He wasn’t sure how many more stabs he was capable of taking, and to his relief, the others had decided to take a break to eat, allowing him an escape from the conversation and Dorian in general.

They mainly indulged in dry rations, of which they had aplenty. The atmosphere was surprisingly good in spite of the tension between Tophler and Felinthriel, mostly because Topher had the good wits to keep his head down and sit a far away from her as possible. Kithra was in good spirits. Despite her severe face and demeanor, Will had learned she was the humorous one, telling the most hilarious stories and having some of the best one-liners he'd heard in a good while. Borrðir would chuckle with a sound that made him think of a big, contented bear, while Felinthriel allowed a gentle smile to spread on her face. And then there was Dorian, who would laugh heartily at every punch-line and beam at them all. As they were packing up, Will watched him take the elf away from the party, just far enough to be out of earshot, and they spoke intimately for a few moments. They embraced and Dorian kissed her brow affectionately. Will looked away, feeling utterly defeated.

For a moment, he was transported back in time, to his late teens, sitting in one of the brightly painted caravan carriages, desperately trying to read the boy in front of him, desperately wanting to touch him, kiss him. The boy, Olver, a tall lad with gorgeous blonde curls and dark brown eyes, was a local lad in the city they were performing in during the Highharvestide festival, and they had hit it off instantly. He remembered the fluttering feeling in his chest when he finally worked up the courage to reach out, touch Olver’s hand and stutter those incredibly difficult words, ‘I want you’, and the crushing sensation inside when Olver responded with horror, disgust and cruel words. As if the pain of the rejection in itself wasn’t enough, the humiliation of having someone he adored, look at him as if he was vermin, call him foul things, as if his feelings were shameful and wrong, was devastating. He knew there was nothing shameful or wrong about it. There were lovers of a wide variety of constellations in the troupe from two men, three women, to a woman and a man-of-spirit. The latter had even married at Midsummer and he keenly remembered watching with fascination as the wife lovingly helped the husband fasten his chest binding in the morning. And despite growing up surrounded by such a broadly represented spectrum of displays of love, this one boy still managed to make him feel so worthless, so vile. He had refused to socialise until they had reached the next town, and he had never taken a risk like that again. There had been a couple of casual lovers up through the years, but they had always been the ones to make the first move.

“Hey! Bard! Are you gonna mount that pony or just continue to stare at the saddle? Because I’ll happily take him off you if you’ve decided to stay behind.” The gnome’s voice was saturated with resentment, but it made Will take a moment to think. Perhaps it would be better to just part ways now, spare himself the heartache of having fallen, hard, for someone who would not be able to reciprocate? But then, something spiteful tugged at him. He wasn’t going to let a gnome with some strange grudge against elves and their like win the satisfaction of getting rid of him. He mounted and glared over at Tophler.

“I’m afraid Borrðir will have to tolerate your sorry ass for a little while longer.” Will could have sworn the Rashemi was fighting back a snigger.

They rode for another five fairly uneventful hours before making camp for the night, Will keeping to himself. Borrðir got a fire started and set up a an iron cauldron over it, into which he tossed all sorts of ingredients. It didn’t take long before the inviting smell of boiling root vegetables and a hint of game mingled with the scent of burning wood. They set up a watch, Kithra taking the first, Dorian the second, and Borrðir the third one as he would be making them breakfast. The Rashemi wrapped himself up in a big fur and blankets on his bedroll very shortly after they had supped, and only minutes later, a soft snore could be heard.

“He’s a heavy sleeper that one,” remarked Kithra in response to Will’s clearly impressed expression. She passed him a wineskin and he accepted. Dorian too had huddled up in blankets and furs, Felinthriel beside him with only her woolen cloak over her. He knew elves didn’t tend to need sleep as much as rest in some sort of meditative state, but she looked completely gone to the world. Tophler had been drinking heavily from his own wineskin already before they started eating and sat drowsy-eyed on top of his bedroll on the opposite side of the fire, a thick blanket over his shoulders. He occasionally scowled over at Kithra. Kithra completely ignored him and instead demonstratively picked up her own bedroll and threw it down on the ground, positioning her between the elf and the gnome, as if she was throwing him a gauntlet. She then paced back to Will who was now in between Borrðir and Dorian and collected her wineskin.

“You should probably get some sleep too. I can imagine you need it if you’ve been used to walking rather than riding.” She was not wrong.

Will wrapped up in his blanket and looked over at Dorian who was already fast asleep mere three feet away from him. Will would have paid dearly for some privacy at that moment, but there was not much chance of that, so he took a deep, steadying breath and turned around to face the Rashemi instead. Closing his eyes, he was delightfully surprised by how exhausted he really was, and within minutes he fell unto a deep slumber.

 

* * *

 

Dorian woke at the gentle nudge of Kithra’s hand. He yawned and stretched, half wishing he had taken the first watch, but hoisted himself up nonetheless. Feli lay beside him in her trance state, something that always made him feel somewhat weird. They’d been travel companions for three years now, and yet that uncanny state still gave him the shivers. It made her look pale and almost unnatural. He turned away from her to find Willhelmer lying less than a yard away from him, and it caught him off guard, as Kithra had been between them when he went to sleep. The dwarf, however seemed to have moved to sleep between Feli and Toph, which was probably a good idea. The gnome had fallen asleep on his back, an empty wine skin beside him.

He turned back to the pale skinned bard with his ginger hair softly curling like flames in a wild mess on top of his head, his lips slightly parted beneath the perfectly groomed moustache. He thought back to the evening at the Dragonback Inn, how Will’s voice had him enthralled within seconds, and how he had forgotten how to breathe for a moment when their eyes first met. How he had savoured watching his swag has he moved to their table after being invited over, drinking in the sight of him. He had thought for a blissful little while that they had shared something special, that there was a possibility of something happening between them, a bliss which quickly deflated when he observed how the bard seemed to draw in nearly everyone he spoke to with those sparkling blue eyes of his. Will was flirtatious of nature (which, sadly, only made Dorian want him more), and whatever he may have thought existed between them was likely to be no more than the skillful gaze of a true entertainer. His suspicion was cemented by Will’s dismissiveness during their conversation earlier in the day, and then by his evasiveness as the day progressed. And yet, when they had been eating lunch, there were moments when their eyes met again, and he could have sworn the half-elf’s cheeks had flushed.  
  
Will moaned in his sleep, and rolled over onto his back, the blanket sliding off him, his brows furrowed, his neck arching ever so slightly. For a moment Dorian thought he might be in pain and moved closer. His mouth went dry when he realised the case was rather the opposite, judging by the bulge in Will’s now exposed leather breeches. The sight made him instantly hard himself and he retreated to his bedroll, fearing that if he didn’t, he might cross a line which shouldn’t be crossed. Will moaned again, hips moving to press the bulge against the leather holding it in place, and Dorian found himself doing the same. He was painfully hard, and before he could clear his head with rational thoughts, he had unlaced his trousers and reached down to give himself the release he desperately needed. He devoured every detail of the half-elf writhing softly in pleasure before him, imagining how it would feel to run his fingers through his fiery hair and feel his body against his own. The bard tensed up and shuddered, breath heavy, fists clenched. Dorian climaxed quickly and hard, biting his lip to avoid making more than a whimpering, hushed moan.

Shame washed over him immediately after. He felt he had invaded grossly on Will’s privacy, and was more than a little disappointed at himself for having watched him the way he had done, for his own pleasure. He cleaned himself up and removed any trace of what had just transpired. Then he moved carefully over to Will. He’d wake up to a bit of a mess, and there was nothing Dorian could do about that, but he could at least make sure he wouldn’t also wake up with a cold, and gently covered him with the blanket which had been lying beside him.

Trying to put his mind on other things, Dorian picked up a stick and moved to tend to the fire. It was still burning brightly, and there were plenty of small firewood stacked nearby to last them through the night, courtesy of Will and one of his nifty spells. His gaze drifted back to the sleeping bard, but his daydreaming was interrupted by a sound. It was the sound of metal scraping against wood.

 

* * *

 

A firm hand was shaking his shoulder, waking him from his pleasant reveries. Dorian was kneeling over him, and for a moment, whilst still half asleep, seeing his face looking down at him, hearing him say his name, he almost thought they had not been reveries at all. He smiled affectionately at him and was about say something he would have regretted, but was luckily cut off before he could.

“Will,” Dorian whispered with urgency.

“Don't say anything. Just get ready to fight.” Before Will could respond in any way, Dorian turned and moved towards Felinthriel to wake her. That's when he realised that his delicious dream had left a less delicious mess in his breeches. He frowned and swore silently, casting a quick Prestidigitation spell under the blanket, thanking all the powers that be that he had learned that little piece of magic. When he looked up, he could have sworn he saw Dorian’s eyes dart away from him. He watched the cleric scramble to his feet, looking awkward, as if he had seen something he shouldn't have, and Will could feel the blood rush to his face in embarrassment.

He quickly got other things to think about, however, as a harsh roar sounded from the tree line four yards away from their camp. The others, apart from Tophler, were already on their feet, Kithra throwing on what armour she had time to fasten, Felinthriel already nocking an arrow onto her bowstring, and Borrðir started singing a strange and intimidating song, which steadily got more and more intense. Tophler, lying on his back on the bedroll, shot up while chanting and making hand movements and as he reached sitting position, a beam of frosty blue/white light flew past Will’s nose and hit something behind him. He turned to see an orc stumbling out from between the trees, frost crusting and steaming on its face as it let out a furious roar. That got him on his feet.

He stumbled backwards at first, hearing the sound of an arrow flying from the string, he turned to see Felinthriel already nock another one. Dorian, had thrown on his chest piece and picked up his shield and mace as Borrðir came running past him, and there was something furiously ferocious about him as he charged the orc, swinging his huge maul the second he was within reach. The weapon slammed into the orc’s ribcage, tossing him aside like a ragdoll. In the darkness, Will could make out eight pairs of red-glowing eyes, quickly surrounding them, and he took a deep breath, swirled his right hand quickly and claw-like through the air, flames flickering between his fingers as he said the incantation he had memorised. He flung his hand out in the direction of the frost-covered orc running towards him, and a bolt of fire shooting forwards from his palm. He was rewarded with an angry grunt and the smell of singed flesh.  
  
Another arrow flew off from Felinthriel’s bow. An unsatisfying metal clink told him that the arrow had met armour, but a glow of light from inside the armour started to radiate from the now shrieking orc, and Dorian was making hand gestures and chanting arcane words as the light intensified. Will flung another fire bolt, which yet again hit, as the sound of metal weapons connecting rang out behind him. He turned to see Kithra holding off two of the vile creatures, and then, with a thunderous sound, slashed her sword into the shoulder of one of them, chopping the arm straight off. The orc tumbled backwards and the other one swung its club at the dwarf, who blocked it with her shield. Borrðir had already smashed in the head of his second orc and let out a loud roar as he bolted towards the next one.  
  
The orc closest to Will, in spite of the frost damage and fire bolts, was quickly closing in the distance between them, it’s big cleaver gleaming in the light of the camp fire. Will stumbled back another few steps, but the swoosh of a projectile sang out and the orc stumbled forwards and hit the ground just two feet in front of him, one of Felinthriel’s arrows sticking out from his ear.  
  
“Thank you,” he shouted at her, swirling around to meet her keen eyes. He could see Dorian swinging his mace at a particularly big orc with half plate armour who caught the blow on his chest piece, rolled with the impact and threw a blow at the cleric with a nasty looking hatchet. It hit and Will felt nausea press at the back of his throat as the sharp edge went straight into Dorian’s side. He could see, in his peripheral vision, Felinthriel, having backed up, pulling another arrow out of her quiver as the big orc loomed over its human opponent, who was falling to one knee from the blow. Rage boiled up inside him.  
  
“Oi! You filthy, pathetic excuse of a goblin’s dropping! Your mother should have choked you and saved you the embarrassment of your existence, you foul kobold’s wort!” The orc looked up at him, his eyes gleaming with fury and roared.  
  
“You die tonight, little fire-cracking shit! I will-” Two things happened at once: an arrow bit itself through its arm, and a maul came crashing into its head, crushing its skull. It fell straight to its knees and Dorian just barely managed to move before it fell forwards, landing approximately where he had been. Behind the orc, Borrðir of Rashemen stood still of just a moment with a terrifying grin on his face, before he moved to find his next target.

Running towards the cleric, something caught Will’s attention. To his right he could see a storm of what could only be snowballs pelting an orc, and a small creature who could only be Tophler shrieking with laughter. Shaking off the absurdity of what he had just seen, Will turned his attention back to Dorian. He heard sounds of metal meeting metal and shouting in Kithra’s direction, but right now, he didn’t care. Blood was seeping out through the fingers of Dorian’s hand as he attempted to put pressure on the wound, sitting on his knees on the ground, shield beside him, mace still clutched in his right hand. He looked up at the approaching half-elf, breath heavy with strain.

“I’ll be alright, go help the others,” he panted, but Will didn’t listen, chanting the words of the only healing spell he knew. The blood flow stopped, and Dorian’s breath sounded a little lighter.  
  
“I told you to help the others,” he reprimanded with annoyance, avoiding eye-contact. Will was a little taken aback, and then it dawned on him that Dorian could probably heal himself and he felt both ashamed for his selfishness and embarrassed for his short-sightedness.  
  
“I’m sorry, I… I saw you get hit and I didn’t stop to think.” _Because you’re an idiot who’s got himself infatuated with someone completely unattainable,_ he scolded himself.

“I know you meant well,” Dorian replied, his voice a little softer, and looked up at him, “so, maybe you can give me a hand?” There was a hint of mischief mixed in with the genuine question, and Will felt a little less ashamed. He took the hand Dorian had extended towards him and the feeling of his skin against his own gave him goosebumps. The cleric’s hand felt rough and calloused, but strong and warm. Will felt his cheeks go warm.

Footsteps could be heard behind them. Felinthriel, Kithra and Borrðir approached them, the latter looking a mess, cuts and bruises all over his face, and Kithra was putting more weight on her right leg when she walked. Felinthriel looked untouched. Dorian dropped his mace and rushed over to them, helping Kithra sit down on her bedroll. He then clutched the amulet of Lathander and started chanting an incantation. Light began to radiate from cleric, berserker and paladin alike, and slowly faded. Borrðir’s face looked its normal self again, and the worry had washed away from Kithra’s eyes. There was only a rift in Dorian’s clothes, the wound completely gone.

Tophler came trotting happily towards the rest of them, looking very contented with himself.

“Well, that was refreshing!” He chuckled and thumped down on his bedroll, tugging his blanket around him and lay down, making himself comfortable. Felinthriel rolled her eyes and looked over at the others.

“As much as I loathe to admit it, I think the ol’ stinker is onto something. You’ll need to get some rest. All of you. I’ll stay on watch the rest of the night. And that’s final,” she added as Borrðir showed signs of disagreeing with that arrangement. He didn’t attempt to argue after that, but heaved his shoulders heavily as he trudged back to his bedroll. The others followed suit, including Will, and as he lay under his blanket he wondered what had brought a pack of nine orcs so far out towards the coastline. Fortunately he was too tired to ponder for very long and fell into slumber.


	3. Suffer no Fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As group travels through the Ardeep Forest, Will gets to better know his travel companions.
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter is also dedicated in particular to all of my trans friends and anyone who's ever had to suffer or struggle because of their identity. I love you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So let it ride easy and let it ride slow  
> The less that you fight it the more you can grow  
> It's a long hard road when you can't go alone  
> So lighten your load and just see how it goes
> 
> \- Suffer No Fools by The Duhks

Due to the eventful night, Felinthriel let them all sleep a little longer than planned. She had prepared some food, and it was nice enough, but a bit of a let-down after Borrðir’s stew the evening before. Bedrolls and belongings were packed, and loaded onto the horse. The orc bodies were gathered up and looted for any valuables.

“This is not right,” Will mumbled to himself, lumping a chopped-off orc’s arm onto the pile.

“What do you mean,” said Kithra who had overheard him, “I chopped that arm off myself, I’ll have you know.” He chuckled. It was good to have cheerful company on such a strange morning.  
  
“Orcs, this close to the coast, and in such a big pack: it doesn’t feel right.” He glanced over at the dwarf who nodded, her face wearing the usual dour expression.

“Agreed,” she responded, “this is not normal. We should be watchful as we travel, even during daytime. If something is going on, I’m certain we’ll have words of it once we reach Amphail.” She trudged off again towards her pony, and Will followed suit.

The journey through Ardeep forest took less time than expected. They had kept stops to a minimum in favour of making good time, due to the constant worry of another orc ambush. Will relished the evenings around the campfire when Kithra would tell funny stories from their adventures, such as that time Tophler accidentally made the outhouse he was sitting in explode, or the one about how Borrðir for the longest time didn’t know that Dayanira’s panther form was in fact Dayanira, because no one had the heart to tell him that the big feline he loved to rub behind the ears (it seemed to approve of said ear-rubbing) wasn’t some fascinating pet who had one day decided to follow them from time to time. And then Will would take out his lute or his fiddle and sing for them. And sometimes while he did, he’d catch Dorian’s eye, making his face flush and his fingers slip on the notes. He wondered if the cleric had any idea how what effect he had on him. _Probably best if he doesn’t,_ he would tell himself and look at Felinthriel.  
  
It was their last evening camped in the woods. They had passed the House of Long Silences earlier that day, and Felinthriel calculated that they’d cross River Dessarin the next day. Will was gathering firewood with his magical Unseen Servant, an invisible helper which could perform simple tasks once summoned, and the sound of footsteps behind him took him by surprise. He turned and heard Dorian and Felinthriel’s voices before he saw them.  
  
“We talked about this, Feli.” Dorian sounded agitated.  
  
“But he’s your father. Shouldn’t you at least give him the benefit of the doubt,” Felinthriel asked. Dorian responded immediately with a court “no”.  
  
“All I am saying is that Amphail is very close to Waterdeep, so you could-”  
  
“I said no, Feli,” the cleric responded more firmly this time. Will felt like he had stumbled into a private conversation and should probably either leave or make himself known, but something compelled him to stay where he had crouched down, hidden from sight by twigs and branches and forest foliage.  
  
“I just don’t understand! You always said he was a good man. Can you at least try to explain why?” They were no longer walking and there was a moment of silence.  
  
“He _is_ a good man. We just see the world a little differently, and he needs to get used to the fact that I won’t come running to follow his bidding, no matter what kind of stupid excuses he might conjure up. Can we just… I’m not going to Waterdeep. That’s final. We took the forest trail for a reason. We go straight to Amphail.” He paused for a moment before he spoke again.  
  
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to derail the conversation like that. My point is, they’ve rebuilt the Laughing Bandit Inn last I heard. We don’t need to go to Waterdeep to be able to indulge in the wonder that is a good bed.” Will could hear Felinthriel chuckle and then there was another moment of silence. Will gave into the temptation of leaning forwards to see if he could spot them.  
  
Behind the tree on his left, he could see them through the shrub just as Dorian brushed some strands of blonde hair away from Felinthriel’s face and ran the back of his fingers affectionately down her cheek.  
  
“You know I love you,” he told her, and Will felt like someone had stabbed him right in the gut and twisted the knife. He closed his stinging eyes and leaned back behind the tree.  
  
“Now let’s get our asses back and see if Will and Borrðir has managed to make a campfire, shall we?” Dorian’s comment reminded him of the Unseen Servant standing beside him, carrying a huge pile of firewood. Will could only hope the firewood was well enough camouflaged that they wouldn’t notice the seemingly hovering pile. He stayed for a little while after the sound of their steps had grown faint, blinking to stop his eyes from stinging, then he took a different route back to the camp.  
  
They supped on good food as usual, Borrðir never failing to provide a well composed meal, even with the simplest of ingredients. Tophler had been in a foul mood since midday and went straight to sleep, and Kithra was tired and didn’t feel like telling stories, so the rest looked to Will for some entertainment. He was reluctant to sing and played an air or two on his fiddle, but Felinthriel insisted he sang at least one song before they all turned in. So he sang the only song he could find it in his heart to sing, one he heard learned from a traveling band of musicians known as the Duhks when he met them in Baldur’s Gate, one he had often sung to himself. It was aptly name “Suffer No Fools”.  
  
_“She don't suffer no fools anymore_

_Now she's figured that ain't what her sweet time is for”_  
  
He looked at Felinthriel and she smiled and leaned over to rest her head on Dorian’s shoulder.

_“Gone are the days of the game playin’ boys_

_She won't let her heart be one of their toys anymore”_

Kithra let out a little grunt of  approval.

_“Hold on to the ones who deserve you_

_Those who strengthen and cherish your heart_

_To the selfish and cruel, bid 'em short strong adieus_

_Make a promise to be true to all that you are”_  
  
Will noticed the ragged Rashemi had pulled out a makeshift drum, and was delighted to find him an apt percussionist. The berserker closed his eyes and was rocking his head back and forth to the rhythm.

_“He don't suffer no fools anymore_

_Now he's figured that ain't what his sweet time is for”_

Will looked at Dorian, and half hoped ‘ol hazel-eyes would understand why, half hoped he wouldn’t. ‘Ol hazel-eyes wasn’t looking at him, but a smile twitched in the corner of his mouth.

_“Gone are the nights of the nobody's girls_

_'Cause he don't want to be no one's sweet little whirlwind no more”_  
  
Even Tophler had sat up on his bedroll, but Will wasn’t sure if it was out of annoyance or enjoyment. Starting the bridge, the bard closed his eyes and just sang for himself for a change.

_“So let it ride easy and let it ride slow_

_The less that you fight it the more you can grow_

_It's a long hard road when you can't go alone_

_So lighten your load and just see how it goes_

_Don't you suffer no fools anymore_

_Once you figure that ain't what your sweet time is for_

_Banish the hope that's so hard on your soul_

_You can't make someone love you I've always been told”_  
  
When he opened his eyes again, Dorian was looking straight at him wearing a strange expression, and Will could see a muscle twitch in his jaw.

_“Hold on to the ones who deserve you_

_Those who strengthen and cherish your heart_

_To the selfish and cruel, bid 'em short strong adieus_

_Make a promise to be true to all that you are”_

As the last notes faded, he noticed Felinthriel was misty eyed and she mouthed a ‘thank you’. Out of old performer’s habit, he gave her a sideways nod and a smiling wink as reply.Dorian was still wearing the same expression as Will packed up his fiddle and lute, but didn’t look at him anymore. Will’s smile faded. _Banish the hope that's so hard on your soul; you can't make someone love you I've always been told,_ he silently repeated to himself, sighed and crawled in under the blanket, the overheard conversation from earlier fresh in his head. At least he could look forwards to a comfortable bed once they reached Amphail, and clinging to that thought, he fell asleep.

The weather didn’t encourage much cheer when they woke up. The clouds they could see above the trees were dark and soon enough rain drops started falling heavily. They were a silent bunch as they rode along, Felinthriel and Dorian in the lead, followed by Borrðir and Tophler, then Will and finally Kithra. Soon they could see River Dessarin in the distance, the outskirts of Ardeep forest thinning out, but the deluge had made the river too treacherous to cross there, so they had to ride for almost a mile along the river to get to a bridge. Once they had crossed, there was a short discussion about whether or not to make camp or to travel through the night to Amphail, but Borrðir, in a rare moment of verbal communication, simply said ‘horses’, and Felinthriel nodded, agreeing somewhat disappointedly that the poor animals needed rest too.  
  
They took to setting up camp by some small clusters of trees to get some shelter from the rain, which blessedly ceased gradually as the sun sank in the sky. While Borrðir made food, Felinthriel approached Will and asked him to follow her. She lead him a little away from the rest of the party with an expression he couldn’t quite read.

“I felt like we should talk,” Felinthriel said, indicating towards a fallen tree, and, reluctantly, Will sat down with her. 

“Dorian suggested we should, and I trust his instincts in these matters.” Will swallowed at the familiar stabbing jealousy in his gut, but looking at her he couldn’t find it in him to be angry. Instead he took a deep breath and spoke.

“So how long have you been together?” She looked at him puzzled for a moment, before she seemed to realise what he was asking.

“We met about three years ago. He… helped me through a tough phase of my life.” A melancholy had fallen over her face as she spoke.

“It must have been very hard for you,” Will said empathically, “I'm guessing your kin didn't approve.”

She looked a little surprised, but there was also relief in her face, like the burden of explanation had been removed from her shoulders.

“My clan is a reclusive one, and they have a very specific mindset about how the world works, or should work. In the end, I decided that, as painful as it was it would be better for everyone if I simply ... left.” Traces of bitterness and sadness was laced in the last word as she looked off into the distance.

“That can't have been easy for you,” he answered finally.

“No. But at least that way I could be who I was meant to be, without anyone telling me that it was wrong.” She looked at him for a long moment.

“We have much in common, Willhelmer Faye. Both of us knowing how it feels to be a part of two very different worlds, and yet having people tell us we don't belong in the one we feel most at home in. You were raised among humans, and yet because of your pointed ears, humans will insist you are not one of them, even if you might feel like it, and I am a woman who was treated like a man for most of my life, just because of the way my body happens to be built.”

Will’s eyes widened.

“Wait, what?” He looked at her as the words sunk in.

“I am so sorry, Felinthriel, but I fear I have misunderstood the situation terribly. I thought this was about you and Dorian.” He felt awful, as if he had lulled her into a false feeling of safety.

“I wasn't aware that you were a woman-in-spirit,” he could see a glimmer of panic in her eyes, “and I hope you can forgive me for my ignorance! It was not my intention to make you share anything you might not have been comfortable sharing with me.” He took her hand, gently.

“Rest assured that I now do understand, and I want nothing more than for you to not feel like you have made a mistake in trusting me with this, regardless of how I came to know about it.” He squeezed her hand softly, hoping to the gods he had said the right words. Tears began to fill her eyes, and for a moment he thought he had failed. Then she squeezed his hand back, trying her best to blink the tears away, and smiled meekly at him.

“Thank you. Dorian was right about you. Your heart is in the right place.” Her smile deepened, and then she frowned, as if she had just remembered something.

“What did you mean when you said you thought this was about me and Dorian?” She looked at him, puzzled.

“I thought it was about how your kin took the news of him being your lover,” he said matter-of-factly. She blinked at him. And then she laughed. She had a wonderful laughter, and even through his confusion, will couldn't help but smile. When she was finally able to speak again, she put her free hand on top of his.

“Dorian is like a brother to me. We love each other, yes, but we are not lovers. He met me before I left my kin, and is in part responsible for the the fact that I managed to do so at all. He made me realise that living a life among people who would never truly be able to love me for who I am, who would rather have me pretend to be something I am not, is not living at all. That I'd be better off, happier, finding those people who would accept me for who I really am, and make my own clan. I would not be here today without him. But there is nothing romantic between us,” she laughed. The her eyes widened.

“Were you worried there was?” She looked at him waiting for him to answer, and he sat there, heart pounding, trying to determine if there was any way he could wiggle himself out of it. Then he looked up at her again, and was reminded that she had just shown him a huge amount of trust, and decided it was only fair that he did the same for her. He he took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.  
  
“I… was,” he said, voice a little unsteady. She squeezed his hand again and Will felt a sense of relief, having someone to talk to, even if he was still somewhat embarrassed for having made such a wrong assumption, but he comforted himself that the arts were littered with tales of platonic love being read as something more, so he was hardly the first to make that mistake.

“So, Felinthriel-” She interrupted him.

“Please, call me Feli.” They both smiled.

“So, Feli, as someone who’s as good as his sister, do I have a shot,” Will asked jokingly, but he really did want to know. Felinthriel sighed and Will prepared himself for bad news.

“I really couldn’t tell you. I’m not very good at reading people like that, and he hasn’t said anything. If it’s any comfort, he hasn’t been with anyone in the time I’ve known him, neither men or women. I never really gave it much thought, I just supposed it was some religious thing or some human custom. I don’t tend to put my nose in other people’s bedroom habits,” she gave a dry laugh and Will smiled. At least it wasn’t a no.

“I could ask,” she suggested and he shook his head.  
  
“Please don’t. I think this is something I have to do myself.” He thought back to the painted caravan carriage, to the fear instilled in him that day, and added, “I think it’s something I _need_ to do.” Feli gave him a supportive smile and another squeeze.  
  
“He’s a good man, you know,” she remarked, studying his face.  
  
“What do you fear the most?” That was a good question, and one Will would rather not think about. He frowned and swallowed.  
  
“Rejection? And humiliation, I suppose,” he answered at long last. Feli nodded.  
  
“Both valid. But knowing Dorian, should he reject you, he would do so in the kindest way possible,” the elf assured, and he knew she was probably right too. Yet, this fear was so deeply rooted in him, there seemed to be very little rationality about it. But it was a kindness of her to say so, and he refused to repay such kindness with complaining. So he smiled thankfully at her, and from her expression, no more words on the matter were need.  
  
“It’s getting late,” she noted, “you should get some rest, sleep on it and deal with it in the morning.” He couldn’t argue with that rhetoric and they headed back together, silently comfortable in each other’s company.

 


	4. Trust and Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will tries to to talk to Dorian and the party have an unexpected encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not ask you where you came from  
> I will not ask and neither should you  
> Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips  
> We should just kiss like real people do
> 
> \- Like Real People Do by Hozier

Feli’s voice whispered in his ear to wake up, her hand nudging him lightly and Dorian blinked sleepiness out of his eyes. He turned to his right to see Kithra wake Will. The elf and the dwarf had taken the first watch and it was time for the second one to begin, which fell to him and Will. He had slept uncomfortably and peeled himself off the bedroll, stretching his back. He couldn’t wait to sleep in a bed proper again.  
  
Will’s hair was a chaotic mess of coppery curls and he seemed to make an attempt at taming them somewhat, looking up at them with a rather helpless expression, but gave up in the end. Dorian suppressed a chuckle, but couldn’t help but smile to himself. The bard dug out an elegant little grooming kit from one of his pouches and quickly touched up his already perfect mustache and goatee. Dorian decided to distract himself, so he picked up a pauldron and a polishing cloth, but his eyes kept betraying him with sidewards glances towards the bard. He watched Will get up, and stretch, his hands running through his hair and coming to a rest behind his neck as he did, his body tensing, then relaxing. Dorian drank the sight of him. Will let his arms fall down to his sides again and headed over to the campfire to toss some firewood on it before returning in Dorian’s direction.  
  
“Do you mind?” Will’s tone was polite as he indicated to the spot beside him.  
  
“Uh.. no, by all means,” he replied, a little surprised, and flung his cloak on the ground for Will to sit down on. The bard sat down. Dorian could feel his pulse flutter. He was less than two feet away from him, and the closeness felt far more intimate now that everyone else were asleep. He furrowed his brow in an attempt to regain his concentration, but felt Will’s eyes on him.  
  
“We haven’t spoken much since… well, since that first day of travel,” Will began, and before Dorian could help it, he had responded instinctively with a bitter huff. He’d felt Will had been avoiding him since that conversation, and then the song the other night. He couldn’t tell if Will had been trying to tell him something or if he was imagining things. The way Will had smiled and winked at Feli was not lost on him either, and they had seemed very chummy when they returned from their little conversation away from the rest.  
  
“Right.” Will sounded somewhat defeated. Dorian cheated a quick glance at him. Will bit his lower lip in what seemed like frustration, his eyes darting around camp (anywhere than at Dorian) like he was looking for something to talk about.

“Look, I… I just want us to be able to talk,” he looked at him again, “ as friends,” he quickly added. Dorian stopped polishing the pauldron as he steadied his breath. _Friends._ The last word he wanted to hear.

“Is there anything I can do to make that happen,” Will asked, his expression sincere and he licked his lips and bit his lower one again. _You could kiss me_ , Dorian thought, thinking of how Will’s lips would feel against his.  
  
“You could simply talk to me,” he answered flatly instead and continued polishing the metal. Will nodded slowly.  
  
“Alright. So… what would you like to talk about?” Dorian hadn’t expected that question. He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again, realising he didn’t have an answer. He looked at Will again, as if searching for some inspiration, searching his face for some hint hidden underneath the fair, freckled skin. All he found was a compulsion to reach out and touch him, to just give in to his desire to have him, consequences be damned. He put the pauldron strategically down in his lap.

“Why did you decide to join us?” He asked. Will’s mouth twitched into a smile which disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.  
  
“To be honest….” The bard looked up at him, mouth slightly open. It was the bard’s turn to study Dorian’s face, and Dorian couldn’t help himself. He started imagining ripping Will’s shirt open, running his fingers through his hair, kissing his chest, licking his niples, unlacing his breeches, tasting him, feeling him inside him. He felt the wave of a build up and could easily have had an unfortunate and messy accident right there and then had he not reined himself in and snapped back to reality, clenching his jaw shut so hard he could feel a muscle twitch. Will blinked and looked away.

“I need the money,” he replied in a way that sounded anything but honest, and Dorian cursed himself silently, wondering what Will was about to say before he changed his mind. He took some deep breaths, hoping to calm himself down. He managed to, somewhat.

“Debts to pay, and all that?” Dorian had decided to just go along with it.

“Not really. There's… “ Will paused, bit his lip again.

“I have someone who depends on me,” he said finally. Dorian could feel a cold sensation in his stomach, a queasiness setting in. He shouldn't really have been surprised, but he hadn't really pictured Will the type to have a someone “back home”.

“Oh.” He couldn't find any other words, and that seemed to make Will feel uncomfortable, because he started fidgeting with his hands.

“I mean… it's, uhm, it's my mother,” he reluctantly admitted, and the cold sensation vanished from Dorian’s stomach, replaced instead with a tinge of embarrassment.

“I don't usually talk much about her.” Will sounded almost a little nervous, and Dorian began to second guess whether Will had in fact lied or not.

“See, I grew up with a traveling troupe of performers who had taken her in after my father left her. She would mend their costumes, make food, sort out their finances and such, and they gave her a home of sorts to raise her child in. Well, we were always on the move, but I always  considered the caravan carriages my home.” Will seemed to relax more as he spoke, the topic seeming safe and familiar to him, and Dorian was drawn in, imagining Will's world of traveling revelers, brightly painted caravan carriages, and colourful performers. It sounded so magical, so far away from his own upbringing as the son of the treasurer of Waterdeep, Lord Cornelius Brightwood, and his life among the nobility there.

“Anyway, she's not a spry as she used to be, and she's managed to get herself a small house and some animals. But the farm life can be tough too, so I've been trying to help her by sending her most of my earnings, but…” he sighed, “it's just never enough.” He had rubbed his forehead with his fingertips, then ran them through his hair, and let out a heavy breath.

Dorian looked at the half-elf. He was unconventionally handsome, the sort of handsome that stuck out of a crowd, the sort which only got better the more you got to know the person. And the fact that Will had such a compassionate side, even if he hid it well under layers of swag and attitude, only made him more attractive in Dorian’s eyes.

 

* * *

 

 Will hadn’t really planned on telling anyone anything of what he had just said. He had actually planned on telling Dorian the truth; that he had joined them because he was infatuated with their cleric. But when Dorian gave him that tense, almost antagonising look, muscle twitching in his jaw, and Will had felt all of his courage crumble, and in the panic that ensued from that, one thing lead to the other, and in the end he found himself painted into a corner, and telling Dorian about his mum had seemed the only way out, as much as he’d rather not have.

His mother was someone who was just his, separate from his life as a bard or entertainer. She represented a simpler life, a safe haven. When she first got the house, in a small village north of Neverwinter, he had stayed for a while, helping her get started with a cow and a few chickens, fixing some fences, planting some vegetables. He always imagined that kind of life to be unfulfilling and dull, but he had found the hard work oddly refreshing, and sometimes he would even long for it. But his father’s blood and the years growing up on the road had infused a wanderlust in him which rarely allowed him to feel comfortable with staying in the same place too long. However, Tomasyn Faye was a rock in the midst of the storm that was his life, and he was possessive and protective of that rock.

He felt naked, and almost a little annoyed that Dorian had gotten this out of him.  
  
“So, I’ve told you all about my parents, what about yours?” Will would freely admit he had asked mostly out of spite, but he instantly regretted it when he saw how Dorian’s face changed from one of warm sympathy to one of bitterness.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” the cleric deflected and, lifting up the pauldron again, picked up where he had left it with the polishing cloth. Will felt like he had just dodged an incoming arrow, and decided to not press him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” Will apologised. Dorian nodded, still focused on the pauldron, then he paused, smiled meekly and turned meet his eyes.

“It’s alright. You couldn’t have know,” he said and Will felt rather awful, but forced himself to return the smile. They sat in silence for a little while, and Will contemplated on how different Dorian was when they were in the company of others, how he would grin and laugh heartily, how he would always be the first one to offer help, how he would talk and joke and interact. And yet, the moment they were alone, he would shut down, as if some invisible barrier had been summoned out of the blue, making him quiet and evasive. He was just about to ask him if he would prefer to be left alone, when Dorian spoke before him.

“This… this is nice. I enjoy your company. Even if it’s a quiet one.” He looked up at him from his pauldron, taking Will utterly by surprise and he could feel a smile, a real smile this time, spread on his face. Dorian returned it, now beaming like the sun. He was just about to say something when they heard the sound footsteps on grass behind them. They exchanged a glance, nearly holding their breaths, and Will picked up the creaking sound of a leather armour in movement and the distinctive smell of orc. His eyes widened and he mouthed the word ‘orc’ to Dorian. And then he shot up, swirled around and threw a fire bolt in the direction of the sound.

Dorian was about to protest, but it was too late. The fire bolt hit home, straight in the orc’s face, making it shriek. The bolt lighted up the area around it somewhat, and Will could make a fairly well assessed guess that it was alone. He shouted the information over to Dorian, who grabbed his mace and shield and charged. The orc, stunned and partially blinded by the fire bolt, didn’t stand a chance, and Dorian hit it straight in the face with a cracking sound and fell to the ground, unconscious, but still alive. The cleric was about to throw another swing at it, when Will stopped him.

“It’s a scout! It might have information we can use,” he swiftly explained, just as Felinthriel came trotting up towards them, bow and some arrows in hand.  
  
“He’s right, Dorian,” she said and told Will to fetch a rope. Will was about to, when figures started to appear out of the darkness and into the light of the camp fire.

“That one comes with us,” growled a deep female voice, and Mardosha the half-orc approached them where they were currently standing around the unconscious orc. Her Crimson Claymores moved into a formation behind her. There were four of them; a blue female dragonborn; a male, golden eyed Tiefling; a towering female human; and a male dwarf built like a bull. Feli was about to object, but Will put a hand on her shoulder.

“I think we should let them take him, Feli,” he said, glancing over at the half-orc, who shifted her attention towards him.

“You. I’ve seen you before,” she said, looking Will up and down, “in Daggerford. You were performing in the Dragonback inn. I didn’t realise you were a fighter as well. You were quick to act with the fire bolt, back there.” Will could feel heat rush to his face from Mardosha’s praise. A week ago, he would have dropped everything for that.

“Thank you,” he replied courteously, “you are far too kind.” Will noticed that Kithra and Borrðir had joined them, and Tophler was scowling over at them all from his bedroll.

“We should be thanking you,” she started, “We’ve been tracking this one for a day, but if we had gone to attack it, it probably would have killed itself before we could stop it,” she continued as she rifled through the orc’s pouches, and finally pulling out a small phial of deep red liquid with hints of glowing purple in it.

“Is that..” Feli cocked her head looking a the phial.

“Bloodberry’s Bane,” Mardosha nodded, her mouth in a snarl as she twisted the phial between her rough fingers. Will was familiar with it through its occurrence in plays, stories and songs: made from the berries of Bloodberry bushes, the poison, when ingested, killed quickly and painfully. It was generally a very difficult substance to get hold of, as it was a punishable crime to sell it in most of the big cities in the Sword Coast. In addition, the ingredients were incredibly hard to come by as the only known place to find the bushes were on the plains surrounding the Battle of Bones, where the undead walked and travelers usually ended up joining them. The fact that an orc scout was equipped with it was disconcerting, particularly if it was indeed a suicide phial. The implications of such foresight were more than worrying.

“They are mobilising for war,” Mardosha said, confirming Will’s fears.

“That’s ridiculous,” blurted Kithra, and Will couldn’t blame her. Orcs were known to move in packs, fighting against other rivaling orc tribes, and ravage small villages and vulnerable travelers, but they were hardly strategists. Something told Will that this was only the tip of an iceberg, and the look in Mardosha’s eyes when Kithra spoke increased his suspicion further.  
  
“You can believe it or not, it matters little to me. But be wary and take care on the road. They have grown in numbers and are getting bolder,” Mardosha informed. Kithra frowned and Feli looked worried.  
  
“We were ambushed in the Ardeep Forest,” Feli told the half-orc, and added, “there were nine of them.” Mardosha gave her a nod and it looked like thoughts were churning in her head.  
  
“There have been an increasing report of orc attacks in this area since Deepwinter. We got word a week ago of three farms near Yartar being razed, and there have been four ambushes of caravans and merchants on the Long Road since, in addition to what so far seems to be random sightings of packs. It’s been a busy few days.” The orc nearly spat out the last sentence, and the furrow in Feli’s brow deepened. Dorian looked worried too. In fact they all did, even Kithra.  
  
“We’re headed towards Amphail. Do you have any reports from there,” Dorian asked. Mardosha shook her head a little.

“We’ve not heard anything, but I suppose that’s good news. I would recommend traveling a little off the road and riding hard until you reach their watch post if you want to reduce the risk of another ambush,” she adviced, running her fingers through her coarse black hair. Feli nodded.  
  
“You should all get some rest and leave at dawn” the half-orc added. And then she looked around at them.  
  
“If you wish, we can stay and keep watch until you’re on the move. We need a breather anyway.” That had both Feli and Kithra’s jaws drop, and Will was, if not surprised, then at least delighted at the generous offer. Felt looked like she might turn the offer down, but Dorian, always seeing the best in people, looked at her, almost strictly, and took the opportunity to speak first.  
  
“We would be honoured and grateful,” the cleric replied in a way that gave those otherwise formal words the weight of sincerity and warmth, and even Mardosha had to smile, a crooked grin which curled around the sharp lower canines sticking out from her mouth.

“Your lad here has the sweetest of manners,” she chuckled warmly towards Feli, and while it could have been interpreted as a patronising jab, she diffused any such indication by slapping her hand around Dorian’s lower arm, allowing him in turn to grab hers in an informal greeting. Dorian returned the smile, and Will could have sworn he saw the faint traces of a blush spreading on his face. Feli seemed somewhat perplexed for a moment, then shook her head and offered the half-orc and her Crimson Claymores what was left of their wine. 

The orc had been thoroughly and skillfully tied up by the tiefling, who, joined by the dragonborn, kept solemn watch over it while Mardosha, the stocky dwarf and the tall human settled around the fire as Feli prompted the her friends (and Tophler, who had been uncharacteristically quiet) to get some rest. Then she lay down herself, but Will could tell she did not enter her trance state. Instead she feigned sleeping like a human would, and the bard couldn’t blame her for her caution. Sleep, however, came quickly to Will, but he was haunted with uneasy dreams. He was sat in a brightly painted caravan carriage with Dorian, his heart pounding in his chest, his palms sweaty. He tried to speak, his words all warbled, making everything came out wrong, and Dorian looked at him with disgust, his face warping into Olver’s. Then the caravan carriage morphed into a forest and waves of orcs poured out from between the trees, charging him. He was woken up by Dorian gently nudging him.  
  
“You seemed to be having a bad dream. I’m sorry for waking you, but I figured you’d be of little use if you woke up already worn out from nightmares” the cleric whispered, squeezing his shoulder. Will smiled sleepily at him.  
  
“Thank you,” he whispered back, feeling a warm feeling growing in his chest. He watched Dorian crawl quietly back to his bedroll again, smiled to himself and closed his eyes, quickly falling back into a deep, blissful slumber.


	5. Into the Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party reach Amphail, but they're not the only ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somethings coming  
> Somethings on its way  
> Mountains are crumbling  
> Like statues of clay - somethings on its way
> 
> Into the Darkness - we are one  
> Into the Darkness - we all must run  
> Into the Darkness - we'll burn a light  
> Into the Darkness - we all must fight, we all must fight
> 
> \- Into the Darkness by Phantoms

By dawn the entire party were packed and ready to leave, and although the sky was grey, there was a strong wind carrying the promise of blue skies ahead. They bid their farewell to the Crimson Claymores, having exchanged names and some pleasantries. Staying off the road, they did as Mardosha had suggested and rode hard to Amphail. They made it to the city watchpost without delay, both horses and riders exhausted, but they all dismounted to allow the animals to cool down without a heavy burden to carry while they walked the last stretch. The village was bustling as they arrived, and they halted in the town square. Amphail being known for it’s horse trade, they had planned on getting the ball rolling in the process of sorting Will out with his own horse, but Tophler was ruining everyone’s day with his complaints of exhaustion and empty wineskins, and Feli had had enough. She approached Dorian and Will.  
  
“Look. Kithra has a contact in town, but we need to get hold of him today as the word is he is packing for a business journey as we speak, but I can’t take that damned gnome’s whining anymore. So, here’s my suggestion: the two of you take him and the horses with you to the Laughing Bandit Inn, get the horses in the stables and get him a flagon so he’ll shut. Then organise rooms for us all. Get all they have, if need be! I think we’ve all deserved a break away from each other with some privacy,” she said, producing a heavy pouch from her belt bag, picking out several gold pieces.  
  
“That ought cover it,” she added.  
  
“I know I’m looking less than fabulous right now, but I _can_ pay for my own room, you know,” Will said, feeling uncomfortable about them paying his way, before he’d had much of a chance to contribute.  
  
“Fine, sort yourself out, as long as we all have a proper bed to sleep in tonight, I’ll be happy. We might be a while, so just eat without us. Good? Good.” Dorian took the gold and nodded. Feli joined Kithra and Borrðir as they hurried off in the opposite direction of the Inn. Tophler looked confused.  
  
“What the hell just happened?” He looked to Dorian, then Will.

“And what can I do to make it happen again? I mean, for future reference when I need to get rid of all the boring ones,” he grinned.  
  
“Oh, just be yourself, and you’ll have people leaving in no time,” Will retorted venomously. Toph, however, seemed to think this was top notch humour and burst out laughing. Will exchanged  look with Dorian and they both sighed and started to move in the direction of the Inn and the stables.

“Oh, come on! We’ve walked enough today,” he complained and was about to mount the poor pony that had carried Kithra, but Dorian simply picked him up like a child and plonked him on top of his own horse.

“If you’re not capable of walking, at least ride a beast who can take the extra burden,” he scolded, and Toph went silent with indignation.  
  
They made their way to the stables which were next door to the inn and once the horses and ponies were well settled in with hay, Dorian paid some extra silver pieces to have someone give them all good brushing and grooming. Tophler, of course, muttered about wasted money and Dorian clenched his jaw, clearly trying his best to hold back a nasty remark. Will, who had found a nice straw to chew on himself, put his hand on Dorian’s shoulder.  
  
“Some people will never understand the value of caring for the well-being of creatures who can’t take care of themselves,” he said, low enough for Tophler to miss it. Dorian turned around and gave Will a warm smile and was about to say ‘thank you’ when he noticed the cheeky glint in Will’s eyes and the joke dawned on him. Dorian looked over at Tophler, leaning up against the stable wall, sulking like a child, and did his best to keep his snigger hidden under his hand. He slapped Will’s shoulder jovially and hoisted over half of their saddlebags over his shoulder while Will picked up the rest. They both grinned widely as they passed Tophler, who came skipping after them.  
  
“What? What did I miss?” They ignored him.

The Laughing Bandit Inn was moderately crowdy as they approach the counter. Will told Dorian to sort out five rooms first and the innkeeper, a balding human man with a potbelly and massive sideburns, was more than happy to oblige, giving Will the feeling that business might be a little slow. He pulled out his fiddle from its case, tuning it and played the shortest of melodies while he waited for Dorian to finish up business with the innkeeper. Then he approached the counter, still holding his fiddle.

“Any chance a bard like me can earn his stay for the night?” He knew the innkeeper had heard him play, and the man scratched his sideburn and shrugged.  
  
“Got plenty of rooms, so no big loss on me either way,” he said and fetched a key for him. Will smiled graciously at him and assured him that he would begin as soon as he had put his things behind a locked door and gotten some food in his belly.  
  
Dorian had already made sure Toph had a flagon and Will helped the cleric carry the equipment upstairs. They distributed the saddlebags into the different rooms, noting down the corresponding room numbers so the others would get the correct keys, and then went downstairs to eat.

The food was a thick stew which had most likely been brewing the entire day, and it tasted exquisite after nearly a week on the road. Even Tophler didn’t complain. Once they had supped, Will started playing, delighting the innkeeper by slowly drawing in a bit of a crowd. By the time the sun had gone down, the place was so busy the innkeeper had fetched both his wife and son to help serve ale, wine and food. Will hadn’t even put his hat out, but by the time he packed up, there were several coins in the fiddle case lying on the floor in front of him. He counted up his earnings, and put all but about 10% of it in his money pouch, then he sat down his instruments by Dorian and Tophler’s table before heading over to the counter again. The innkeeper was wiping his brow with his apron, but grinned widely at Will when he approached, and quickly produced a glass of wine for him.  
  
“I was about to offer you a small percentage of my earnings as thanks, and here you are offering me wine before I even get the chance,” Will exclaimed.  
  
“Keep your coins, bard! You’ve earned each one of them!” And with that, the man dived over to a customer waiting further down the counter. Will shrugged, took the glass and headed back towards Dorian and Tophler, but before he reached the table, he felt someone tug the sleeve of his shirt.

“Rattlepike, is it?” Will turned to see a young woman. She had thick, black hair pouring down in waves over her shoulders, dark, flawless skin and gorgeous brown eyes with thick, long lashes beneath perfectly shaped eyebrows. Her bodice was laced tightly to amplify her figure and the blouse underneath it was tugged down to reveal as much skin as possible whilst still following the general ideas of decency. Had he held any sexual interest in women at all, he would definitely have felt some sort of reaction to the sight of her. He could still appreciate her loveliness, however, and made no attempts at hiding it.

“That would be me. What might warrant me the honour of your attention, my lovely?” He looked her up and down once more. 

“I saw you performing earlier, and I was hoping to find you before you left,” she purred, sliding closer to him. Will raised an eyebrow at her forwardness. It was a rare trait, in men and women alike, and he admired her even more for it.

“Whatever for?” It wasn’t really a question, as he was fairly certain of what her motives might be. He was teasing her, he knew, but he couldn’t help it.

“To join me for a drink, of course,” she smirked, and slinked right up to him, pressing herself against him. Now that she was this close to him, he could smell the alcohol off her breath, and could hear that she was slurring her words slightly.

“I’m not too sure if more drink should be in the cards for you tonight,” he noted diplomatically and she repaid him with a disappointed pout. Then that smirk spread on her face again and she placed a hand on his shoulder which she proceeded to run firmly down his chest.  
  
“There are other things we could do than drink, you know.” He had to stop her from literally attempting to slide her hand down his breeches.  
  
“Are you sure you should be out here, alone?” he asked, now sincerely worried for her. She could hardly be a day over 18, more likely younger.  
  
“I’m fine! I’m here with my friends,” she said and pointed towards an empty table. She looked confused for a moment, but then seemed to shove the confusion aside and return to her former tactic of feeling him up. He put his wine glass down on the table behind him.  
  
“I think we should probably get you home,” Will interjected while fending off her roaming hands.

“No! I don’t want to go home. Let’s go to your place.” Seeing the parental approach was not likely to give any useful results, Will cast a glance over to the others. Kithra, Feli and Borrðir were still nowhere to be seen, but Dorian and Tophler seemed to have taken some amusement at watching this whole scene play out. Toph even seemed to encourage it, making rude gestures towards the poor girl. Realising he could not expect much help from them, he changed his tactic.

“Alright, love, let’s go to my room, shall we?” She looked greatly satisfied and clung to him as he walked over towards the steps where he had to help her to make sure she didn’t trip on her way up. By the time they reached the door to his room, she was swaying, and he had to help her balance whilst he unlocked the door. They stumbled into the room, and she wasted no time starting to unlace her bodice while Will carefully guided her to the bed. He gently pushed her down and then went to lock the door. She was about to unlace her blouse as well when he stopped her.

“Sweetheart, no.” She took it as him playing coy, and made an attempt at kissing him.  
  
“Please don’t,” he said and took her hands and held them tight in his, “I can’t. I don’t want to.” She made one last attempt, trying to pull his hands towards her nearly exposed breast, but he resisted. Her perfect brows furrowed and he could see her eyes glaze over.  
  
“Is… is there something wrong? It there something wrong with me?” Tears started to well up and trickle down her cheek. Will sighed sadly.  
  
“No. No, darling, you are perfect.” He sat down on the chair by the bed.

“But why-”

“Because even if I did want to, no man deserving of your attention would take advantage of you in this state with no consideration of how you would feel tomorrow morning when the wine has worn off.” She was clutching her bodice, trying and failing to lace it up again.

“I should leave..” she muttered and made an attempt at getting up. Will stopped her.

“Please. Stay here tonight. Sleep it off. I would rest easier knowing you were safe until your head clears.”

“Will you stay?” She looked slightly hopeful.

“No. I don’t want to give the wrong idea to anyone who saw us go up. I know all too well how word travels in villages like yours.” He got up and started collecting his things, quickly packing them up enough for him to carry them. He placed the key on the chair by the bed.

“The door is locked. The room is already paid for,” he told her.

“But how will you get out without unlocking the door?”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something,” he said smirking and conjured up a Dimension Door.  
  
“Take care, sweetheart.” He gave her a little flourish and stepped through the Dimension Door and out to the the corridor outside the room. Carrying all of his things, he went downstairs and joined Dorian and Tophler. They both looked surprised.

“That was quick,” commented Toph.

“It doesn’t take that long to get a woman into a bed she can sleep in,” Will dryly retorted. Toph seemed to had just spotted that he was carrying all of his things.

“Did she throw you out?! I mean, it’s no wonder if you were that quick about it,” he mocked.

“No she didn’t throw me out. And we didn’t… _do_ anything. I just gave her my room so she could sleep it off. Didn’t you see how drunk she was? What kind of person would I be if I had taken advantage of someone that inebriated?” Will was getting annoyed.

“A satisfied one?” Toph joked, making lewd gestures. Will didn’t see the humour. He just made a disgusted noise at Toph and sat down as far away from him as he could whilst still being at the same table. Dorian, moved over to join him, and Will was delighted to see that he too didn’t seem to find the gnome particularly funny.  
  
“I think that was a very fine thing you did, Will,” he said whilst looking at Tophler. Tophler just rolled his eyes, grabbed his flagon and left the table mumbling something about them being no fun at all. _Good riddance_ , thought Will.

“I mean, a lot of men would not have done the same,” Dorian noted, ignoring the gnome and offering his flagon to Will. Will accepted and took a big sip. He looked down at the ale, and took another swig.

“Truth be told… I’m not really one for the young maids,” he admitted. He took another swig without looking at Dorian. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

“Oh. You’re more of a ‘grown woman’ type of man, then?” Dorian’s voice had a hint of cheeky mischief about it. Will took another swig. And then one more. And then he looked at him, straight into his eyes.

“I’m more of a ‘grown man’ type of man,” he said. His heart felt like it might break his chest as Dorian’s eyes widened and he looked like he had trouble finding words. When he finally did, all he managed was a slightly stuttered ‘Oh’. He couldn’t bear to keep eye contact and looked down into the flagon again.

“Does that make you feel uncomfortable?” He would have taken another sip of the ale, but he was too focused hiding the fact that his hands were shaking.

“N-No,” Dorian spluttered,”I just thought-”

An armoured hand slammed into the table startling Will so bad he nearly lost the flagon. Kithra was standing before them and looked very agitated.

“Gear up for battle! Now! We have to go!” She looked around for Tophler.  
  
“I just need to sort myself out with a new room, so I’ll have somewhere to leave this,” Will said , indicating to the saddlebag and his backpack. She looked at him, confused for a second, as if she was about to ask why he needed a new room, and then she seemed to mentally push the notion aside.  
  
“Dorian, you’ll need to go back to your room for your gear anyway, Take Will with you and let him leave his things there for now. We don’t have time for unnecessary delays.” She wore a face which left no room for discussions, so they both did as she said.  
  
“Where is that damned gnome,” they heard her exclaim as they headed up.  
  
They entered, and Will had already dug his leather armour out of the saddlebag, so he flung the rest on the floor. He quickly strapped on his armour and turned to see Dorian struggle with a pauldron.  
  
“Could you give me a hand,” he asked. Will moved over and took the leather strap which attached the pauldron to the chest piece. He had to move in closer to tighten it, and could feel Dorian’s breath against his cheek. He did his best to ignore it, but he could feel, and hear how unsteady it was. As the prong of the buckle slotted into the hole in the leather strap, he turned his head only to meet the gaze of a pair of hazel eyes staring at him. They just stood there for a moment, which felt like an eternity, gazing into each other’s eyes. Someone hammering on the door shattered the moment, and Dorian snapped back into action, grabbing his gauntlets, his mace and his shield. They could hear Kithra shouting for them to hurry. Having a free hand, Will took the shield and mace off Dorian so that he could put the gauntlets on as the moved. Outside, Tophler was giving Kithra viscious scowls and mumbling about everyone being party poopers. Dorian locked the door and the proceeded to follow the dwarf and the reluctant gnome pulling on and securing the gauntlets as he did, Will right behind him.

Kithra had not spoken a word about what was going on, but Will had an uncomfortable hunch. There was shouting in the distance as they came out of the inn, and the dwarf lead them out of the town square, towards the watch post they had passed earlier that day, and that’s when they saw. An ettin. Two-headed and foul, the giant creature loomed over the ground, making its way towards the watchtower at the watch post, as the men there desperately tried to climb down the ladder and run to safety. They ran towards the watch tower, which was a good 30 yards from the village. They could see Felinthriel and Borrðir already there helping the men to safety as the ettin slowly drew closer. Four Waterdhavian soldiers who must have been patrolling the area between Amphail and Rassalantar could be seen running out from the village.

That’s when the drums started. Dull and deep they rang out from the darkness, and soon it mingled with the sound of gruff voices shouting in the orcish tongue. The three of them just stood there for a moment, and as Will turned to the three others, he could see the fear in their eyes. One thing was to take out an orcish ambush party. An ettin and an unknown amount of orcs were an entirely different game altogether.  
  
Feli and Borrðir joined them, and the elf had the same fear in her eyes.  
  
“There are at least thirty of them,” she panted, “possibly more.” There was a helplessness in her voice, but she was fighting really hard to overcome it.  
  
“Thirty!? And an ettin! We don’t stand a chance,” Tophler shouted and he started backing slowly up. Will could see desperation in Feli’s eyes as uncertainty spread, and he cast a glance back at the village. That could have easily been the village his mother lived in, he thought, heart pounding. They would most likely all die. He thought of the young girl sleeping in the inn, the innkeeper, all those people.  
  
“NO!” He had shouted louder than he had planned, but it had gotten their attention. He looked at Kithra, at Dorian, Borrðir and Feli, even Tophler.  
  
“We might not be able to win, true. But we can give all those people in there a fighting chance to survive! Those are farmers, common folk! They can’t fight. Those monsters out there will rape and kill any living thing in there, and then they’ll burn it all to the ground, unless we at least try to stop them! And hell, if by some miracle we survive, they’ll be singing songs about us for the rest of their lives!” That made Kithra smile, in spite of everything. Borrðir rolled his shoulders and Tophler muttered some swear word and then a bitter ‘fine’. Feli looked at him and her eyes brimmed with pride. He turned and his eyes met Dorian’s, and, although he wasn’t certain, he thought he could see affection there. He chose to believe it was and smiled, a smile Dorian returned, in that radiating way only he could, and that was all Will needed. He turned and began the incantation to summon a fire bolt as he heard the singing of an arrow leaving Feli’s bow.  
  
“Take the ettin down first,” the elf shouted back to them as Kithra was chanting, her hand on Borrðir’s shoulder.  
  
The arrow struck the ettin’s shoulder and the giant roared out. A thunderous roar which made the ground shake. Seconds later, Will let his fire bolt fly, and it hit the monster in its leg. The ettin turned one of its heads towards them, and Borrðir charged. Streaks of blue light shot out from Tophler’s palms and hit the giant in the ear of the head looking at them. The ettin roared again, and swung its huge club into the now empty watchtower, splintering it into firewood. Borrðir was hit by a piece of falling wood, but didn’t seem to even register it. Instead, he swung his maul over his head and brought it down onto the ettin’s big toe. A vicious shriek rang out as both set of eyes widened in pain.  
  
Will could hear Dorian’s voice beside him, and then radiating flame-like light descended upon the giant, just like it had on the orc during the last ambush. Another Arrow struck home, straight into one of the ettin’s four eyes. And Will flung another fire bolt, which sadly missed as the monster twitched in pain from the arrow. Borrðir’s maul didn’t miss, however, and crushed yet another toe. It was a clever tactic, when Will thought about it. Without the range of missile weapons, the best way of getting some real damage in would be to get the ettin to topple over. He couldn’t help but shout out.  
  
“Borrðir, you beautiful man! You’re a fucking genious!” Will wasn’t sure if he heard him, but the Rashemi seemed to grin a little broader in his battle rage.  
  
It was Kithra’s turn to charge, and, sword and shield in hand, she joined Borrðir in his mission to obliterate the ettin’s balance. Will cast a quick glance back at the Waterdhavian soldiers who had stood rooted to the spot earlier. Seeing Kithra join the fray must have inspired enough courage in the men, for they too started closing in the distance between themselves and the giant. Another bluish beam of light streaked out of Tophler’s hands, and Dorian was chanting again, summoning those radiating flames once more. The ettin, seemed to have been so distracted by everything going and the two heads looked to be arguing about what to do, but as the four soldiers came running, it regained its focus and stomped its still undamaged foot down towards Borrðir and Kithra. It missed the dwarf, but Borrðir was knocked prone. Then the giant swung its club out against the four who had just gotten close enough for it to hit. The spikes on the club skewered one of them and flung him a few yards off. A terrifying sound came from the ettin: it was laughing. One of the remaining soldiers froze on the spot, while the two others attacked, clearly fueled by vengeance over their comrade.

Borrðir scrabbled to his feet and together with Kithra and the two soldiers, they all made a collective strike on the ettin’s already damaged foot. The laughter coming out of its throat turned into a roar and for one magnificent moment, there was stillness as the giant fell to the ground, shaking the earth. There was a cheer and Will grinned, but the grin was wiped off his face as he saw the horde of orcs which had come almost within charging distance while they had fought the ettin. He felt cold as he watched the first row of them growled and started running towards them.

“Fall back!” Felinthriel’s voice rang loud and clear, and both Borrðir and Kithra did. The Waterdhavian soldiers however were busy hacking the eyes of the ettin. There was another cheer from them, as they seemed to have managed to mostly blind the monster. Then the orcs were upon them. They didn’t stand a chance, but Feli sent an arrow flying anyway, and Will followed her example and flung a fire bolt. Dorian repeated his trick and Tophler attacked again with his frosty beam. One orc went down, but there were still nine of them left. _We’ve taken down nine orcs before,_ Will though to himself, refusing to consider the twenty, possibly more waiting on the other side of the fallen ettin.

There was a rush of air out of nowhere. Seconds later, eight figures stood between the six of them and the orcs. The orcs stopped in confusion. Seven soldiers in Waterdhavian uniforms and a blue dragonborn carrying a claymore stood before them. The dragonborn opened her mouth and a bolt of electricity shot out and hit an orc in the face. This seemed to rally the Waterdhavian soldiers and they charged.

Behind the orcs, Will could see the ettin moving. It was trying to get back on its feet. Dorian had noticed too, and Feli had already pulled another arrow out of her quiver. Dorian shouted out to the three others to follow them, and together they all ganged up on the giant. It flailed its arms, but it had lost its club in the fall and hadn’t been able to find it. Borrðir was singing again, and Kithra hacked away at its remaining eye. Then the Rashemi rumbled a bear-like roar and slammed his maul into the throat of one of the ettin’s heads. Tophler had stayed behind with the dragonborn and the soldiers, assisting them with rays of frost.

Will could hear the drums clearer, and now he could see them. There weren’t just twenty of them; they were closer to forty, and on some absurd chair on a wagon construct sat a huge orc with plate mail, a gigantic axe at its side and a bow in hand. The orc let out a thundering battle cry, and another wave of orcs charged towards them. Then he stood up, notched an arrow onto the string of his bow and let it fly. Will heard a small ‘dink’ to his left. The arrow had hit Dorian’s chest plate as he stood still chanting words of healing. Will could see Waterdhavian soldiers who were previously incapacitated with pain, get to their feet again, ready to fight on.

He could hear voices shouting on his left, but he was too busy watching the big orc notch another arrow, aiming in the same direction. _He’s trying to take out our healer,_ Will thought and terror clenched his heart. Before he knew it, he was shouting.

“Oi! You’re the ugliest bowman I’ve ever seen! Do they force you to stay behind shooting arrows so the rest of them won’t have to look at your ugly mug? Or are you just a big coward?” He hadn’t expected the orc to hear him, but it did, and it turned, locked it’s eyes on him, a vicious snarling grin spreading on it’s ugly face. It let go of the string, sending the arrow whistling towards him.

For a moment, time seemed to slow down. He saw Mardosha and the rest of her Crimson Claymores flanking the orcs, the half-orc decapitating two in one horrifying blow. He saw Kithra and Borrðir finish off the ettin. And then he saw the arrow singing towards him, and he thought of the smile Dorian had given him, beaming like the sun.

Will could feel the arrow pierce through his armor and dig into his skin. His chest tightened and it got difficult to draw air into his lungs. Looking down he saw the arrow’s shaft sticking out of his chest and in disbelief he raised his hand to touch it. It felt unreal. He could hear shouting, feel the taste of metal at the back of his throat as his peripheral vision darkened. He fell, but never felt himself hitting the ground. His remaining vision grew blurry and the metallic taste thickened, making it harder to breathe. Someone saying his name. Something filling up his mouth and trickling down his chin. Pain searing in his chest. Hazel eyes. Vision fading. Dorian. More pain. No air. Pain. Darkness.  
  



	6. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wakes to deal with the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I lay here  
> If I just lay here  
> Would you lie with me  
> And just forget the world?
> 
> \- Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol
> 
> Artwork by me. Full size at www.ingridbeast.deviantart.com/

His eyelids felt crusty as he tried to open them. He heard hushed voices speaking.  
  
“It’s alright, I’ll stay with him, Feli. Just get some sleep. You’re no use to anyone if you don’t get some rest.” He tried to move but his body wouldn’t obey.  
  
“What about you?” He could breathe again. That was good.  
  
“Please, Feli. I need to be here when he wakes up.” _Dorian._ There was a sound of a door closing. Footsteps coming towards him. Someone gently stroking his brow. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a soft moan.  
  
“Will?” Dorian’s voice was soft, concerned. He wanted to answer but the words wouldn’t come out. He tried to open his eyes again and this time they obliged.

“Will.” His vision was foggy, but it slowly cleared and he could see Dorian’s face looking down at him, a sigh of relief escaping from his lips as the bard tried to will his own to work.

“It’s alright. Just allow a few more moments for the magic to do its work,” Dorian assured him. Will looked down at his chest where an arrow had been stuck last he could remember. There was no arrow, just his bare chest where a small orb of light was glowing over where the arrow had pierced him. The orb gradually grew smaller, and he could feel strength return to his limbs. he looked back up at Dorian.

“Well,” he said, his voice finally working, “that was close, wasn’t it?” He made a small chuckle, but Dorian frowned at him.

“Don’t,” he said, turning his head away.

The orb was completely gone, and so was any trace of a wound. Will felt incredibly invigorated, like after a good night sleep and swung his legs over the side of the bed, bringing himself up into a sitting position.

“Don’t what?” He leaned to the side in an attempt at catching Dorian’s gaze.  
  
“Don’t make light of it,” he answered, turning his head back, but avoiding eye contact, “you nearly died.” His armour, pauldrons and all, were on a second chair in the corner. The front spattered with a dark red. Looking over at the man sitting in front of him, Will noticed that his light brown breeches and the linen shirt he’d been wearing underneath the armour were stained with blood as well. So was the floor, bowls of red-stained water and cloth scattered around the bed. Bloodstained sheets. Blood on the clothes he was still wearing, mainly the once white shirt now ripped open at the front to give access to his chest, and his green leather breeches, laces half undone, probably in the process of ripping his shirt.  
  
“I didn’t, though,” Will said a little softer. He leaned a little forwards raising his hand to touch him, but Dorian shot up from the chair and stormed a few paced towards the door. Will sighed. He didn’t know what else to say, so instead he cast a series of Prestidigitation spells to at least clean up the blood on and around him. Dorian finally spoke.  
  
“But you could have,” he said, his tone almost accusatory.  
  
“I would have had to live with that ... ” he paused for a moment, before he continued, his voice sounding fragile and broken, “and I’m not sure I could.”

His vulnerability caught Will off guard, the moment they had shared before the battle creeping back into his mind. It had felt like the moment just before a kiss, and he wondered if that’s where it would have led, had the circumstances been different. He stood up, took a step towards the cleric, then another.

“I’m sorry. It’s my instinct to try to lighten the mood.” Dorian didn’t move, didn’t answer, but Will could see that he was shaking.

  
“Dorian. Look at me.” He stood in the middle of the room, chest exposed, shirt barely tucked into his half undone breeches. Dorian turned his head still looking at the floor, and slowly let his gaze glide upwards, but as soon as they made eye contact, he turned back, and Will could hear him let out a shaky breath. Taking another step, and then another, he slowly closed the distance between them. By the time he was right behind him, he his body was shaking from the adrenaline pumping through his veins, heart racing. He was so close he could smell him and it had an immediate effect on him.  
  
“Dorian. I’m right here.” He fought the urge to touch him, but he could see some strands of brown hair move under his breath, so he knew he could feel how close he was. He cocked his head slightly and leaned in a little further towards his ear.

“What more do you want,” he whispered. Dorian took a deep, shaky breath, held it in for a second and then spoke.

“I want you.” The words almost made Will dizzy as feelings of happiness and lust, rushed into his head. There was a hint of disbelief too, his mind not quite grasping that this was really happening, but he batted that notion aside, as the lust flowing through him would allow no room for doubt. He took a deep breath to draw in the scent of him before he spoke again.  
  
“That’s all I needed to hear,” he said, brushing Dorian’s hair away to reveal his neck and gently kissed the tanned skin just below his ear. Goosebumps formed under his lips, egging him on to kiss a little firmer this time. He parted his lips and let the tip of his tongue trail up the neck towards the ear while his left hand tugged the bloodstained shirt up and out from the breeches to feel the skin underneath it. Dorian moaned softly and tilted his head backwards as the bard let his right hand slide down to squeeze his firm ass.

Calloused fingers touched Will’s temple and proceeded to run through his hair. He responded by pulling the cleric closer, allowing him the reach to slide his left hand slowly down his stomach and feel the impressively big bulge growing in Dorian’s breeches. He cupped the bulge, squeezing it gently, and was rewarded with a sharp gasp. The hand in his ginger hair gripped tighter, pulling him away from the earlobe he had been teasing with gentle nibbling and the tip of his tongue. Dorian’s head turned to face his, hazel eyes meeting bright blue, and all Will could see was hunger.

Their lips met and it was his turn to shudder and as he felt the tip of his tongue touch Dorian’s. Their kiss deepened and he could feel the cleric turn his body to face him and nudge him towards the bed. Breaking away from him, but with a firm grip on his now extremely tight breeches, Will stepped backwards, pulling him along until he could feel the bed behind him. He sat down and tugged Dorian close, undoing the laces of his blood stained breeches and watching him pull off his bloodied shirt. 

Will paused for a moment, just to take in the sight of him. His broad shoulder, his strong chest, and, he found as he peeled the brown leather breeches down, a very hard and very big cock. He must have made some sort of surprised sound, because he heard a chuckle. Eyebrows raised, he looked up at Dorian, to see a sheepish grin plastered on his face. _I’ll wipe than grin off your face,_ he thought to himself with a smirk, letting both hands glide up the cleric’s  exceptionally well toned thighs, just barely touching the dark hair at his crotch, only to continue upwards towards the trail of hairs on his stomach. There was definitely a reaction, and he slid his hands back down and repeated the move again, just to be a little cruel. A groan of frustration escaped Dorian’s lips, and Will smiled contentedly, rewarding him by licking the entire length of him. A gasp this time. He did it again, but when he reached the head, he slid him slightly into his mouth.  
  
“Oh my god,” Dorian murmured. Will rubbed his tongue up against him inside his mouth, and heard him repeat the words more clearly. _Not good enough._ He took as much of him into his mouth as he could, feeling him press against the back of his mouth and slide a little bit down his throat.  
  
“Oh my god!” _That’s better!_ He could feel fingers filter through his hair again, gripping him, and allowed the hand to steady his head as Dorian found a slow rhythm, sliding in and out a few times. Will relished hearing him moan as he did. Pulling completely out and looking down at him, hazel eyes glazed over with pleasure, mouth open, breathing heavily, he dropped to his knees and kissed him. His rough hands tugged the ripped shirt off, and undid his green breeches. Will helped him get them off. Dorian wasted no time on teasing and just plunged him into his mouth. Will fell backwards from the wave of pleasure, nearly hitting his head into the wall, and grabbed a generous amount of brown hair to steady himself. The feeling of Dorian’s tongue and mouth sliding up and down his cock was nearly too much, and he pulled his hair to make him stop, panting slightly. He looked down to see him panting too, and noticed that he had been stroking himself as well.  
  
“You want more?” Dorian smiled and nodded, still breathing heavily. Will scooted further in on the bed, and patted the space beside him. Dorian didn’t really need the encouragement and joined him, letting himself be pushed down onto his back. Will leaned over him and kissed him while moving in between his legs, spreading them. He pulled away, and, sitting on his knees, lifted Dorian’s left leg up over his right thigh. He took him in his right hand and gently squeezed him while his left hand ventured down below his cock, his middle finger circling slowly downward until it found what it was looking for. Dorian reacted with a harsh intake of air.  
  
“Is this okay?” Will looked up at him and was given a breathy ‘yes’ and a nod of approval. He cast a very quick Prestidigitation spell to make his fingers nice and slick. and put his middle one back to the previous location, circling and pressing gently, slowly sliding in. Will could feel him harden even more in his hand and his breath grow even heavier, followed by a long, low groan. He carefully pulled his finger almost all the way out before pressing back in again. He began to slowly pump the huge cock in his hand at the same time. The pressure around his finger eased a little and he stuck in his index finger as well, making sure both were well lubricated. Dorian’s entire body tensed up and he moaned loudly. Will let his body adapt to both fingers, carefully sliding them in and out, stroking gently to find that particular spot, grinning wickedly when he did and Dorian reacted to it. Will let go of Dorian’s cock, and slipped his fingers all the way out, casting two quick concessional Prestidigitation spells, first to clean his fingers and then lubricate his own cock. He looked down at Dorian.  
  
“May I?” He had intended for it to sound cheeky, but he was too hungry for him to feign coyness.  
  
“Please,” Dorian replied, nodding almost desperately.  
  
Positioning himself, Will carefully pressed up against him, slowly entering him. Dorian’s back arched as he went deeper, and he pulled himself almost all the way out before plunging back in. They both moaned loudly at the sensation, and Will had to stop for a moment, so as to not get too carried away. Lowering himself, he slid his arm under Dorian’s, and balancing on his right elbow, he ran his fingers through his lover’s soft, brown hair. Slowly, he began to move up against him, whilst pumping him with his free left hand, finding a rhythm for both. Sweat began to form on his brow and he increased his tempo, making Dorian moan louder, murmuring the words ‘yes’ and ‘more’ for every thrust he made. Looking down, he could see drops of precum dribbling down over his hand. He increased the tempo further and Dorian’s entire body tensed up, his neck craning, back arching, brows furrowed. Seconds later he could feel him clenching around him, and the wet sensation of cum hitting his chest, drops trickling down over his hand. That sent him too over the edge and the wave of an intense orgasm overtook him, sending spasms through his limbs and stars twinkling before his eyes. He collapsed on top of Dorian’s chest, both of them panting for air.  
  
After a moment’s repose, both catching their breaths, Will could feel Dorian softly stroking his hair. He tilted his head backwards to look up at him and their eyes met. Dorian smiled and kissed his brow, then his nose, then his lips. Will kissed him back. It was a tender kiss, one of affection rather than lust, and as they broke apart, their faces still nuzzled up against each other, just taking in the sensation of being that close, that intimate. It felt like heaven, just lying in Dorian’s arms like that.  
  
“I wanted you from the moment I saw you,” Dorian murmured into Will’s hair. Will smiled and chuckled a little.  
  
“And I you,” he said, hoisting himself up on his elbow. Dorian’s brow furrowed.  
  
“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” His voice almost sounded wounded. Will shrugged.  
  
“Why didn’t you?” Will’s retort seemed to get Dorian thinking.  
  
“Because I’m an idiot,” he said, and then he burst out laughing. Will laughed too.

“I’ll accept that as your official statement,” he jested, and Dorian playfully shoved at him. Their eyes met again, and Will fought the compulsion to kiss him until he reminded himself that he didn’t have to anymore. Dorian returned the kiss and moved over on his side, so that he faced Will.

“We should get some sleep,” he murmured in between kisses.  
  
“That would probably be wise,” Will agreed, snuggling closer to him, feeling his eyelids go heavy. Dorian pulled him closer and they both drifted off into a slumber.

Golden rays filtered through the window, lighting up the room. Will yawned, and for a moment, he found himself disoriented, but then he noticed the weight of Dorian’s arm around his waist, his steady breath warming the back of his neck, and he felt happier than he had been in years. Dorian stirred and pulled Will closer, nuzzling his head in the nook of his neck, planting sweet kisses.

“Good morning,” he murmured, and pressed up against him. Will raised his eyebrows.

“ _Definitely_ a good morning,” he mirthfully replied, turning his head around to see a big, sheepish grin on Dorian’s face.

“We can afford to be late for breakfast, can’t we,” the cleric teased, planting kisses on his shoulder, softly nibbling his skin. A small sigh escaped Will’s lip’s.  
  
The others were almost done with their meal by the time the two of them joined the rest, Will’s hair a bit of a mess, and Dorian sporting a bit of a blush. Borrðir was the first to notice them, and he simply raised both of his eyebrows, looking like he was making some calculations in his head, then shrugged and went back to finishing that last rasher of bacon on his plate. Feli looked up at them, eyes darting from Dorian to Will, raising an eyebrow quizzically and Will couldn’t subdue a lopsided smile. She lit up and sucked in both her lips, as if to stop herself from exclaiming with glee, then got up and gave him a hug as they approached the table.  
  
“We thought we had lost you,” she said holding his shoulders.  
  
“Ah, I couldn’t let you off that easily,” he replied with a mischievous grin and clasped one of her hands. She pulled him down to sit at the chair beside her, and Dorian grabbed the one to his left, having just paid for their breakfast.  
  
“So, you’ll have to fill me in on what happened after I took that arrow,” Will said. The mood was an odd one, but the village still stood, well at least the Laughing Bandit Inn still stood, so he suspected that they, by some miracle, had won the fight. Kithra cleared her voice.  
  
“We got unexpected help. Mardosha and her crew showed up flanking the orcs just as you went down, and they turned the tide. Two Waterdhavian soldiers didn’t make it, and four of them were badly wounded, but Thorgir patched them up,” she said, referring to the dwarf of the Crimson Claymores. Will felt sorry for the families of the soldiers who had passed, however, they were strangers, and while their passing was sad, they had all fought bravely, and they knew the dangers of joining a militia. It didn’t quite explain the odd atmosphere around the table. He was about to press the matter when he noticed. Someone was missing.  
  
“Uhm.. Where’s Tophler?” Will looked around the table, and Dorian did the same. Feli looked at Kithra with a grave expression.  
  
“He’s gone,” the elf said resentfully, making it pretty clear that this was not a matter of the gnome’s passing.

“When we came downstairs this morning, the innkeeper informed us he had already left. We don’t know where.” Will was glad to be rid of the little bastard, and couldn’t quite understand why they were all so gloomy about it. But Dorian looked at Kithra with a furrowed brow.

“I’m so sorry, Kith. We’ll find him,” he said.  
  
“Why? Why do we need to find him?” Will looked from one face to another.

“He has a magical item that will allow us to find out who took the Stonehelm and where it’s been hidden,” explained Dorian. Will was puzzled.  
  
“There are plenty of magic users who can help you locate items, though. Why not just find one of them?” As he said it, Kithra shook her head.  
  
“It has to be him,” she sighed.  
  
“The Stonehelm is shrouded to anyone trying to scry for it or locate it,” Feli said.  
  
“Tophler has in his possession a ring,” she continued, “a ring with a gem from the Stonehelm. We don’t know how it came to him, but he has refused to part with it. It will allow him to feel it if the Stonehelm, or whoever is obfuscating it’s whereabouts, draws near him,” she explained.

“And trust me, we tried everything from threats to bribes and sweet talk to get him to part with that ring! He wouldn’t budge,” Kithra said, exasperation lacing every syllable. Will frowned and nodded.

“So when do we leave, then?” He gave them a look that said he was ready to go.

“We’re hoping to get you a horse this afternoon, but by that time it’ll be too late for traveling,” Feli answered.  
  
“So, we’ll leave tomorrow, then. Kithra, I promise, we’ll find the little tosser,” Will reassured, and that brought the hint of a smile to her face.

Two plates stacked with warm, delicious smelling food were carried over to their table and placed in front of Dorian and Will. He felt like he hadn’t eaten in years and got stuck in. Dorian chuckled.

“What?” Will looked up at him.  
  
“You’d think we’d starved you,” he laughed and Will just smiled to himself.

“Guess there are just some appetites that can’t be sated,” he remarked, and observed Dorian’s cheeks flush a little. He smirked contentedly and continued eating his breakfast.


	7. Copper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party splits up in Amphail to find clues on where Tophler might have gone. Dorian and Will are left to search for answers to more than that question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I knew what you were thinking  
> I would stop this boat from sinking  
> But darling you are like the sun  
> Setting when my evening comes  
> I just don't know what you're thinking
> 
> \- What You're Thinking by Passenger
> 
>  
> 
> Artwork by me. Full resolution can be found here: http://ingridbeast.deviantart.com/

They did actually consider sacrificing the prospect of having enough horses for everyone in favour of keeping Tophler’s head start to a minimum, but as they asked around, anyone who had seen him, and they appeared to be disappointingly few, seemed to not recall which direction he took. Some even said he hadn't even left the village at all. They had split up, Feli, Kithra and Borrðir going to one part of the village and Dorian and Will going to the other.

An old man who had been enjoying his pipe while they talked to a woman who claimed Tophler left that morning and returned again shortly after, waved them over as they shook their heads in exasperation.

“You're looking the gnome, is that right?” He took a deep pat on his pipe as he studied them, then let the smoke slowly seep out of his wrinkled mouth and bulbous nose.

“Yes. Did you see where he went?” Dorian studied the old fellow’s face.

“Nope. And I don’t think you’ll find anyone who has either. I’m no mage, but I’ve lived long enough to recognise when someone casts a spell. And the gnome cast a spell. Perhaps even several ones, who knows.” He took another puff off his pipe, and Dorian looked back at Will who mouthed some profanities under his breath.

“You’re not gonna find the little fella this way. But there might be another way,” the old man said, and they both moved a little closer. The man noticed that he had piqued their interest and there was a spark in his eye.

“There are stories, rumours, of a sorceress who resides in the Westwood. They say she’s good at finding things. For a price, of course. Perhaps she can find your gnome too.” There was a furrow growing on Dorian’s brow.

“Thank you for the suggestion. We’ll consider it,” he said curtly and turned to leave. Will looked a little confused.  
  
“Aren’t we going to get directions,” he asked the cleric, but Dorian just grabbed his arm and dragged him along.  
  
“It’s just rumours and stories, and even if they were true, it sounds utterly dodgy,” Dorian replied.  
  
“Sure, because we have so many other solid leads to follow,” Will retorted wryly and Dorian sighed.  
  
“Fine. You wanna ask for directions, then go ahead.” Will just smirked at him, turned and approached the old man again.  
  
“I’m terribly sorry for my friend’s manners! We would greatly appreciate any information you could give us about this sorceress,” Will said, using his most polite voice and mannerisms. The old man lit up again.  
  
“They say she resides in the western part of the woods, and you’ll know you’re getting close when the trees change colour.” He winked and then turned back to smoking his pipe, as if there was nothing more to it, and Will returned to Dorian, feeling a little disappointed.  
  
“So?” Dorian looked at him expectantly.  
  
“He was pretty vague,” Will began, “but mentioned the west part of the woods and trees which change colour.” Dorian just raised his eyebrows.

“What? It was still worth checking out, could have been more but at least now we know.” Dorian shook his head and started heading back towards the inn.  
  
“I’m hungry. And sick of asking people who clearly don’t have answers for us.” Will couldn’t blame him for that. He caught up with him and fell in line beside him. Dorian had seemed a little dismissive since they left the privacy of his bedroom, and Will wasn’t sure if it was the bad news they had been given or if he should be worried. He was no stranger to seeing a lover lose interest once a hunger had been sated, but he didn’t think, or at least didn’t _want_ to think that was the case with Dorian. Regardless, it was neither the time or place for that conversation, so they walked in relative silence back to the Laughing Bandit.

It was nearly noon when they entered the inn, the sun shining warm and bright, and he could have murdered for a nice bath. The innkeeper was whistling as he cleaned the counter, and Will approached him with a smile.  
  
“This might be a long shot, but would you, by any chance, have any means to take a bath or the likes here? I’d pay good coin to use it.” The innkeeper beamed at him and nodded eagerly.  
  
“We do, in fact! When we started to rebuild the inn, my son and I turned the shed in the back into a little bath house. If you have time to wait, we can have it filled for you. Perhaps you’d like some food while you wait?” Will beamed right back at him, telling him how delightful that would be, and digged out his money pouch, paying the man his fees for food and use of the bath house.  
  
“A bath? And food? That sounds too good to miss out on. Count me in as well,” Dorian chimed in from behind Will, and produced the coin for it. Although his tone was almost cheerful, Dorian face was still wearing a severe expression, but his body brushed against Will’s as he leaned over to slap the coins on the counter, and it made the bard’s heart flutter. It really shouldn’t, after all they had already been a lot more intimate, and yet it did. He shook his head slightly to clear his head and joined Dorian, who seemed to be in deep thought, by a table as they waited for the food. The silence between them felt pressing.  
  
It was interrupted briefly by the arrival of their food, but returned with a vengeance as soon as they were eating. They both focused on their food, neither seeming willing to cut through the awkwardness, and once they were done, the innkeeper handed Will a key to the bath house along with some fluffy cloths to dry themselves off with. He then showed them the door to the back yard and the two of them walked over to the tiny building, Dorian looking at the ground all the way. Will couldn’t bear the silence anymore.  
  
“So, uhm. It looks like we’ll be staying here for another night, unless the others had more luck than us,” he began tentatively. Dorian nodded, a furrow on his brow.  
  
“I should probably... sort out a new room, I guess.” Will looked at him, searching for some kind of clue to what he was thinking. That muscle twitched in his jaw again, and his frown deepened.

“If you like,” he said after a pause which felt uncomfortably long. A short intake of breath made it look like he was was about to speak, but he remained silent. They had reached the door, and Will unlocked it before they entered and locked it again after him. He watched Dorian put the cloths on a bench by a huge tub filled with steaming water. It must have been sunk into a big hole in the ground, because it was not very high, but looked rather deep, and it could probably fit a whole party of people in it. There were cobblestones fitted around it which felt warm, as if there was something heating them up from below. Will had seen nothing like it before, and took a moment to admire the clever engineering which must have been put into the making of such a thing. Then he turned his attention back toward Dorian.

The cleric swallowed, but still no words. Will started to undress, and grabbed a cloth to put around his waist, as he was feeling somewhat self-conscious. He had hoped for a relaxing, soothing bath, but this seemed to become less comfortable by the minute, so he might as well get it over with quickly. Dorian seemed to think the same. He had undressed and was just putting his Lathander amulet on top of his pile of clothing when he heaved a sigh. 

“I… I can’t read you Will.” He looked up at him over his shoulder.  
  
“I can’t tell if this was just a bit of fun for you or…” his gaze dropped to the ground, “and if it was, then I need you to tell me, because I don’t think I can be that for you.” He looked up at him again.

“I don’t think I can take having you and yet not _have_ you.” His expression was miserable, as if he was expecting the worst, and Will realised how his words earlier must have made it sound like that was the most likely conclusion. He took a few small steps towards Dorian, the cloth around his waist slipping down an inch while he moved. 

“You’re not that easy to read yourself, Dorian. And I’m sorry if I somehow gave you the wrong impression.” He could see Dorian’s expression tense up, that familiar muscle in his jaw twitching, and it was clear that he’d done it again, muddled things up even further with his words. _For a bard, you’re a fucking embarrassment, Will,_ he thought and quickly closed in the remaining distance between them. He cupped his face with his hands.  
  
“You’re not just ‘fun’ to me, Dorian. You're more than that. _I want_ more than that.” Dorian was studying his face as if he wasn’t sure to believe him or not.

“And… if it’s alright with you,” Will continued, “I’d much rather stay with you tonight than get a new room.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah,” Will reassured and the tension seeped out of Dorian’s face, leaving only relief. Will bit his lower lip, slid a hand behind Dorian’s head and then leaned in to kiss him. There was no objection; Dorian’s arms came up to embrace him, fingers caressing his hair, pulling him closer. Will’s other hand roamed down Dorian’s chest, playfully pinching a nipple. Dorian gasped into his mouth. They broke apart, noses still nuzzling, hot breath mingling between them.

  
  
“You play dirty, half-elf,” Dorian whispered and brushed his lips against Will’s, teasing him.

“I think you need a bath,” he added, and, with a wicked grin, he tugged off the cloth around Will’s waist and picked him up. Before Will had any chance to object, Dorian had climbed the two steps up, positioning him right over the tub, and dropped him into it.

Getting his bearings in the water, which was delightfully warm, Will blinked and spluttered, and Dorian laughed heartily. The bard glowered over at him with indignation, which only made Dorian laugh more. Still sniggering, he too descended into the water, serenity spreading over his face as it enveloped him. The tub was deep enough for them to stand and just have their heads above water, and almost three yards wide. In addition to the little step ladder on one side, it also had a sort of ledge on the inside which allowed them to sit with water up to their waists.

Dorian advanced on Will, who was still wearing a pout.  
  
“I’m sorry Will, it was just too tempting,” he said grinning like an idiot. Will, his arms folded under water, raised an eyebrow, water dripping down from his hair, making him blink, completely ruining his sass. Dorian chuckled and brushed the hair away from his face (making more water drip down, but Will didn’t really care at that point), his hand coming to a rest behind Will’s neck.

“Forgive me?” Dorian looked a little less mischievous now, and Will cast one glance into his eyes. Any trace of irritation or wounded pride melted away and he let Dorian kiss him, gently pushing him towards the ledge.  
  
“Forgiven,’ he whispered as they broke apart, and he hoisted himself up on the ledge. Dorian followed suit, settling beside him. Will hadn’t noticed the bar of soap on a string dangling right behind him until Dorian leaned over to lure it off its hook, placing a wet kiss on his shoulder as he did.

They washed away the filth of the last week, giving each other a hand here and there, rubbing sore feet and shoulders, cleaning greasy hair, scrubbing the other’s back. They didn’t speak much through it, only a few words, and some kisses. As the water grew dirtier and they grew cleaner, they helped each other clean off the soap and dirty water by pouring some fresh, but rather cold water from a few buckets on the side of the tub.

They had dried off, dressed and exited the bath house, only to be greeted by a brilliant sun on a blue, cloudless sky. Dorian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his head tilted upwards, as if to return the greeting. As he opened them, he seemed to spot something on the ground. Dorian knelt to pick it up and his smile got wider. Will leaned in to see what it was and saw him holding a small, flat, circular piece of copper, a hole in the middle and a sun pattern etched in around it, and it had somehow caught the light and reflected it for Dorian to spot it.

“Lets sit here for a while,” Dorian said. Will obliged, sat down and leaned over to rest his head on Dorian’s shoulder. Dorian beamed at him, and leaned back against the wall of the bath house, allowing the bard to rest in his lap. Will looked up as the cleric gently ran his fingers through still wet, ginger locks.  
  
“So, if I kissed you in front of the others, would you be fine with that?” Will’s question seemed to have taken Dorian a little by surprise, and his fingers untangled themselves out from his hair.  
  
“I… hmm… I’ve actually not thought about that. I’ve never really… _been_ with someone _, publicly_. I grew up amongst nobility and while it was common for unmarried people to have lovers, it was always something done in discretion. To openly flaunt it would be frowned upon. There is also some resistance towards marriage between people who are not likely to produce offspring. Passing down the family name is important and all that. My father always expected me to wed early and give him grandchildren. He wasn’t too pleased when I chose to become an acolyte of Lathander instead. But he still supported me. I supposed he figured that I could rise in the ranks there and increase my eligibility among the noble ladies or something. Then I took to adventuring and he…. He didn’t take that well.”

Will was speechless. He had asked the question expecting a ‘no’ or a ‘yes’, hoping for the latter. He wasn’t prepared for the plunge into Dorian’s past and family intrigue. Not that he minded it, on the contrary, it made him feel warm on the inside to know that Dorian trusted him with this sort of knowledge about him. He just hadn’t seen it coming. So, he kept quiet and simply squeezed his lover’s shoulder. Dorian smiled a little at him.

“At first, I would send him letters. But even when he knew which town I would be in next, even when we lingered there for a while, there were never any replies. So I stopped sending them. Last time I was in Waterdeep, and I met him,” Dorian took a deep breath, “it ended in a vicious argument.” He sighed and looked off in the distance.

“What sort of argument,” Will asked before he could stop himself, but Dorian didn’t seem to mind.  
  
“He… He had a marriage proposal ready for me the moment I stepped through the doors. Some rich Lord’s daughter, barely even of age. I told him that was out of the question, and he told me I wasn’t welcome in his house until I accepted. So I left. And I’ve not set my foot in Waterdeep, nor have I spoken with him since. That was four months ago, when we were headed for Baldur’s Gate. And then, now, out of the blue, I get a letter from him, begging me to come home, telling me in one sentence that he understands that I needed time and freedom, and then imploring me to accept the same conditions as last time we met!”

Will couldn’t imagine a life where his mother would attempt for force a marriage on him. To a woman, no less! His own mother knew very well where her son’s preferences lay and she had never made a fuss about his being any different from anyone else’s. But then, he had grown up among commoners, among whom having a partner who would love and support you in the daily struggle that was life was far more important than whether or not that partner could help you produce offspring. Children, if wanted and granted, were considered a blessing and an obligation, not only to the parents, but the ones around them. The old country adage ‘it takes a village’, or in Will’s case, it takes a troupe, was strong, and so, in practice, a child would have many parents and the family name would be a formality only.

He looked up at Dorian. There was anger, but also hurt in his eyes.

“Does your father know?” Will asked tentatively.

“I don’t know. I suppose he suspects. But I fear it wouldn’t matter to him. I know mother did not love him, yet they were wed anyway. Because that is how it has been done and it is all he knows. He always spoke of how sacrifices had to be made for the sake of family, and marrying someone out of duty, even if it made both unhappy seems to be one of those ‘sacrifices’ to him,” Dorian responded bitterly. He looked down at Will, quietly studying his face for a moment, then leaned down and kissed him firmly. Lips still brushing against his, hazel eyes looking straight into his blue, he spoke again, full of determination, this time.

“You can kiss me in front of whoever you want, Willhelmer Faye. I’m yours.” Will’s heart felt like it had momentarily stopped, and he pulled Dorian back down to meet his hungry lips. The kiss lasted an eternity. Or at least that’s what it felt like, and when they broke apart, he sat up and embraced him tightly, Dorian wrapping his arms around him and returning the embrace.

“As am I yours,” Will whispered into Dorian’s ear, feeling goosebumps form on the sensitive skin of his neck, and Dorian’s arms tugging him slightly tighter for a moment. Then the cleric released him enough to look him in the eyes again.  
  
“I want you to have this,” Dorian began, giving him the piece of copper he had just found.  
  
“It was providence that I found it, as if the Morning Lord himself pointed it out to me, his light playing on the copper. But he already let me find the most beautiful copper in this world when the light from the fireplace played in your hair that night in Daggerford,” Dorian said, running his fingers through Will’s curls again, and the bard could feel his eyes stinging.  
  



	8. Into the Westwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party finishes up their business in Amphail and head for their next destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love is lightning, love is ice  
> It only strikes the lucky twice  
> Once, so you will know the price  
> And once for crazy faith
> 
> \- Crazy Faith by Alison Krauss

Kithra, Borrðir and Felinthriel were all sat at a table talking when their bard and cleric emerged through the backyard door near the bar and handed key and the now damp cloths over to to the innkeeper. Their hair had dried in the sun, and Will had a very slight sunburn on the ridge of his nose, the tips of his ear and on his cheekbones, making him look like he was in a perpetual state of blushing. It made Dorian smile. He loved seeing Will blush, perhaps because the half-elf was keenly aware of it every time it happened and it made him endearingly flustered. To think, this morning, when they had sat down to break fast, he had started to worry about what would happen next, or more precisely, about how long it would take before Will got bored with him and moved on to more exciting prospects. His comment about appetite, in retrospect a rather cheeky, but funny one, had Dorian over-analysing and second-guessing everything, and by the time lunch was due, he had managed to work himself into an awful mood and convinced himself that what they’d had was no more than a little fling to Will. _No wonder he was confused, what with all those mixed signals_ , Dorian reflected, but then he felt Will’s hand on his, his fingers filtering in between his, and for a second he forgot to breathe. He watched the half-elf lift their clasped hands up to his mouth, placing a feather light kiss on the back of his, sending delicious, tiny shivers through him, and making his heartbeat quicken.  
  
“Shall we?” Will inquired, nudging his head towards the others. Dorian glanced over to see Kithra staring at them, wide eyed and mouth slightly ajar. Feli was smiling, biting her lower lip the way she did when she was excited. Borrðir looked up at them from his food, gave them a gruff, lopsided grin and went back to eating. Dorian felt a tug as Will moved towards them, still holding his hand. He allowed himself to be tugged along, heart pounding. He knew there was absolutely no reason to be nervous. These were good people, friends he had known for years. And yet, his love life had always been something he had kept entirely private, to such a degree that he had never spoken of it with any of them, not even Feli. To be fair, there had never been any reason to either. Sure, there had been men he had found attractive, but attractive wasn’t what he was looking for. He hadn’t really been sure what he had been looking for. But when he heard Will’s voice, the way he plucked the strings of his lute, he knew he had found it. And then he saw him, the warm light of the fireplace dancing in his red hair, and he knew he was lost, enthralled. Sitting down next to him, listening to him tell the others about their only clue being a rumoured sorceress in the Westwood, he fought the compulsion to run his fingers through his hair. He lost.  
  
“Something about trees changing colour…” Will’s voice trailed off as Dorian snuck his hand behind his neck and buried his fingers in those soft swirls of copper. The bard turned to look at him, surprised, but delighted, his sunburn reaching a new shade of pink, and Dorian grinned, feeling his own cheeks grow hot.

“I’m- I’m sorry, Will, but, when did this happen?!” Kithra looked from Will to Dorian in confusion, and back to Will again. Then over at Feli.

“Oh, we met the old man by th-” Will was interrupted by Kithra again.  
  
“Not that! You! You two suddenly being all… cute! When did that happen?” She realised she had gotten out of her chair and sat back down again, with a somewhat embarrassed expression. Will’s ears had gone bright pink at this point, but Dorian couldn’t help but chuckle, and that was all Feli needed to fail her attempt at holding her laughter back.  
  
“What? What’s going on? Dorian, stop laughing! You know I hate being left out like this!” Kithra was clearly very exasperated in her confusion and frustration. Unfortunately that made both Dorian and Feli laugh even more, and Borrðir was chuckling to himself, trying his best not to spill any of the food he was eating. Only Will seemed to have any semblance of composure left.  
  
“I do apologise, Kithra, but it would seem your cleric has seduced me,” Will chuckled, “and I may have fallen foul of seducing him right back,” he added with twinkling eyes. Dorian looked up at him, the laughter subsiding, replaced by another compulsion. Again, he gave in, and kissed him, in front of them all, both his hands letting their fingers get tangled in Will’s hair. And it was the most liberating thing he had done since he stormed out of his father’s house four months ago. When they broke apart, Will was positively red, but smirked wickedly at him. Borrðir had flung his arm around an even more wide-eyed Kithra, giving her a big bear hug and smiling at them both through misty eyes, and Felinthriel was gawking gleefully at them.  
  
“Good. ‘Bout time.” They were all surprised to hear the Rashemi speak. He was blinking profusely to chase the mist away from his eyes, his lower lip pursed on top of his upper lip in concentration, nodding approvingly. Dorian grinned smugly and nuzzled Will’s neck. Feli was rubbing Kithra’s arm reassuringly.  
  
“Kith, did you honestly not notice them this morning?” Kithra looked up at Felinthriel, still confused, then, realisation dawned on her and she made an ‘O’ shape with her mouth, but didn’t say anything. Then she snapped her mouth shut, as if she had forgotten it was open.  
  
“Regardless, no one has been holding out on you, alright? Suffice to say that neither Dorian or Will have been ready to share it with us until now, so the rest of us have just been guessing.” Feli looked over at Dorian and Will, and Will nodded in agreement with the wood elf.  
  
“Alright. Next time, give me some sort of warning, though. I don’t like surprises,” Kithra said gruffly, but added with a lopsided smile, “even if it’s a really, really nice surprise.”

The three finished eating while they all discussed their next move. Without a means to locate Tophler, they had nothing, so they decided to make an attempt at finding the Sorcerer in the Westwood, but not without a great deal of reluctance. The Westwood had dangers of its own.

 

* * *

 

The afternoon was spent getting Will’s horse, and then they all decided to turn in early to get a good night’s rest. Well, most of them did. Will was not about to waste the last night of privacy with Dorian in gods knew how long on just sleeping, and the cleric seemed to be very much of the same mind. They had barely closed the door behind them before they were tangled in a deep, intense kiss, and as soon as the lock clicked, they were tugging at each other’s clothes, breathing heavily. Dorian pushed Will up against the wall, placing hot kisses on his neck and impatiently unlacing his breeches. Will let out a breathy groan as Dorian grabbed him firmly, kneeled in front of him and took him in his mouth. Will grasped a fistful of brown hair to steady himself, feeling his legs go weak. Dorian helped him out of his breeches and then guided Will’s left leg to rest on his shoulder. The bard saw him take out a small phial from his belt pouch before he felt Dorian’s fingers, all shining with oil, slowly warming him up, carefully sliding inside him. He gasped and felt himself harden even more. Dorian took his time, allowing Will to get used to one, then two and finally three fingers, making sure he was nice and slicked up. Then he stood up, breeches already unlaced, removed his fingers, (Will quickly cast his usual spell to clean them up) and instructed Will to put his arms around his neck and hold on tight, which he happily obeyed. Dorian hooked his arms under his legs, lifting him up, and Will helped lower himself onto him, groaning loudly as he felt Dorian push inside him. For a moment, neither of them moved, both catching their breaths, allowing Will to get used to the sheer size of him. Dorian let himself slide a little further in, pausing again, breathing an ‘are you alright’ into Will’s ear.

“I’m fine, stop wasting time! I want all of you,” he panted back and something wild crept into Dorian’s eyes as he thrust his full length in, making Will almost cry out in surprise and pleasure. Dorian was grinning wickedly, pulling out just enough to make another thrust. Will groaned and begged him for more. Dorian obliged, and before long he was pounding him furiously, sweat dripping over his flexing muscles. Will came so hard he thought he might faint, and clung desperately to Dorian’s neck. He felt Dorian shudder silently before gasping for air, and shortly after, his grip on Will’s legs slacked, letting them sink down to the floor. Will kissed him lazily.  
  
“Didn’t even make it to the bed this time. Such impatience,” he chuckled and Dorian nuzzled his nose against Will’s, sweat trickling from his brow.  
  
“Oh, I’m the impatient one, mister ‘stop wasting time’,” Dorian retorted, pulling him in for another kiss. Will smirked before allowing him to, and ran his fingers through Dorian’s damp hair.

“What a mess we’ve made,” Will tutted after they broke apart, and cast some quick prestidigitation spells to clean them both up. Dorian laughed and shook his head.

“I love how you can just do that,” he mused, and looked at the half-elf with wistful eyes. “May I take my handsome bard to bed now?” Will looked at him raising an eyebrow.

“Again? My, aren’t you insatiable,” he teased, but Dorian simply swooped him off his feet and dropped him gently on the bed, where he quickly joined him after taking off his remaining clothes. Will took off his too, which was really just his shirt at that point, and pulled the blankets over both of them. Resting his head on Will’s arm,Dorian smiled when he noticed the little piece of copper on a string around his lover’s neck.

“I figured there was less chance of me losing it if I just wore it around my neck,” Will murmured, looking down on him. Dorian looked up and met his gaze, clearly moved. They kissed again, snuggled up close and fell asleep within moments.

The party had set out at dawn and reached the edge of the forest before midday. Taking a path which ran west, they steadily made their way below a slowly thickening canopy of leaves.

Will's new horse was a brown mare; calm and strong, steady in her step, and exceptionally well trained. Will had insisted on paying for her himself, and riding her, the gold he had spent almost felt like an insufficient sum. She was so sensitive to his legwork that it hardly felt like work at all, and although she liked some length on the reins, she would dutifully obey him when he took them in. Her trot was smooth and her walk quick, and though he had not had the pleasure of letting her gallop, he suspected it would feel like flying. Her only flaws so far was that she would blow her belly up when he saddled her, so he would take his time, and sing while he stroked her neck, and eventually she’d see there was no harm in it and relax. Once she was all saddled up, however, she was a dream. So he named her that.

Sun streaked the earthy floor and Borrðir’s voice filled the air with his warm, full voice, singing a song Will had familiarized himself with enough to provide harmonies. The Rashemi had looked back at him, face lit up with joy when he first did. Their song seemed to soothe them all, and they rode in peaceful tranquility until they stopped for a short rest to fill their bellies and stretch their legs.

 

* * *

 

Dorian’s heart fluttered when Will sat down between his legs, leaning back to rest his head on his chest, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he couldn't help himself, and no-one seemed to mind either. He idly ran his fingers through Will’s hair, gently massaging his scalp as he did. Will made some noises of contentment while chewing his food and Dorian’s grin widened. He felt Will’s hand stroking his knee and closed his eyes. He had never known serenity like this, never been so in love. The thought made him pause, his heart racing. He had not considered how deeply he felt about Will until now. Or, rather, he had not wanted to admit it. He had admitted to being smitten with him, to caring about him, desiring him, but _love_ him?

He had been in love, loved someone before, once, but that had been very different. The object of his affection had been both much older and married, and while the wife had been accommodating, even encouraging of their relationship, Dorian had always felt a bit like an outsider, and even more so the day their paths parted and he was left with no one. He knew the heartbreak had been mutual, and yet he had been so devastated after their parting, it took him over a year to get fully over it. He had known then that he was not meant to love fast and easy, and that, should he fall in love again, it would probably be the last time he did. He had spent nearly ten years with his head unturned since that first time.

Looking down at Will, head tilted backwards, eyes closed, a faint, yet content smile on his lips, Dorian knew, and it terrified him and thrilled him at the same time. Leaning forwards, he placed a soft kiss on the bard’s forehead. Will's smile widened and the sight made Dorian’s chest tighten.

_I love him._

 

* * *

 

Ivy and bushes partially covered the entrance to the huge stone alcove where they had made camp for the night. The ground was surprisingly dry and it was big enough to fit all of them comfortably, including the horses, the roof high enough up to allow a small fire. They had groomed the horses and ponies, eaten well and delegated the watch shifts. The acoustics amplified everything, so they tried to keep the sound level as low as possible, speaking in hushed voices. No music was played and no stories were told that evening.  
  
Dorian had put his bedroll right next to Will’s, and Will made no effort to hide his approval of that small, yet meaningful gesture. It felt somewhat surreal to snuggle up feeling Dorian’s arm beneath his head, and his strong, body pressed against his behind him. It was more intimate than he had expected, even though they were both fully dressed, perhaps particularly because they were doing so in front of everyone, but it was an intimacy he relished. He’d had whirlwind affairs before; short, intense romances which had burned far too bright, and died far too quickly, but this didn’t feel like one.  
  
Dorian’s left arm snuck in under his, and Will put the cleric’s calloused hand on his chest, his own on top of it. He could feel Dorian burying his face in his hair, his hot breath on his neck. It gave him goosebumps. In that moment, all he could think was that if he could fall asleep like this every night for the rest of his life, he would be truly happy. He started imagining Dorian twenty years from now, lines on his face, perhaps some scars, grey streaks in his hair, deeper callouses on his hands, same beaming smile. Will would be the first to admit it; he was easily swayed by an attractive face, but with Dorian, the prospect of his looks changing, be it by age or a life of lazy comfort, didn’t bother him at all, as long as we could be there to see it happen. The bard fell asleep with a smile on his lips.

Morning crept on, and as usual, Borrðir provided them with breakfast. Kithra and Feli had taken the first shift, Dorian and Will the second one, and then Feli had joined Borrðir on the morning shift, as she needed less rest than the others. They packed up quickly and moved on.

Two more days of travel passed uneventfully, and the foliage had grown thicker, the light dimmer, and the paths more treacherous. They had managed to sneak past a bear the day before, and while Kithra had been more than ready for a fight, they had all agreed that avoiding conflict would be preferable.

Felinthriel seemed so much more at home among the trees than anywhere else Will had seen her. She was less on edge and her body seemed to move with more fluidity. Will on the other hand felt like a fish out of water in comparison. He didn't mind forests, but he much preferred cities and roads to woodland pathways. Subconsciously, he gave Dream a gentle scratch by her slightly lighter coloured mane, the way he had come to find she liked it. She was in part responsible for the smoothness of his journey so far, with her sure step and gentle spirit, and he had grown excessively fond of his four-legged companion.

The rest of his thanks went to Feli’s trained eye and keen senses. She was a tremendously skilled pathfinder and tracker, and her ability to guide their party safely through natural obstacles and would-be dangerous terrain was impressive. _She may consider herself inept at social skills_ , _but she is more than apt at what counts,_ Will mused, watching the wood-elf dismount and guide the rest of them safely across a small stream with deceivingly slippery rocks.

As Dream carefully crossed the stream with Felinthriel’s guidance, Will spotted a blue leaf in the water. It was gone too fast for him to get a second glance, and he told himself it must have been a trick of the light. Then he saw a pink one which had been caught in some twigs by the mossy edge of the stream. As he looked at it, the pink turned into purple, and the purple then turned blue. He blinked. Dream was safely on solid ground again and Will was about to tell the others when he looked up to see the lot of them gaping at the sight before them. It was as if they had passed through some magic barrier and having ventured through it, the true nature of the place was unveiled to them. The trees on this side of the stream did indeed change colour. The leaves, the trunks, the branches, all of them fluctuated from one colour to another. It was unreal, and to some extent unnerving.

“And here I was thinking the old man had gone a bit silly,” Will muttered, taking in the absurdity of the sight as Dorian came up behind him, looking as flabbergasted as the rest.  
  
“I feel like I just lost a bet,” he blurted.

“You can pay me back later,” Will chuckled and Dorian gave him a mischievous scowl.

The party started moving again, slowly, all of them put a little bit on edge by these unusual surroundings. The sun was still shining brightly through small gaps in the foliage, and the ground started to slope a tad downwards as they rode on. It didn’t take long before they spotted the small cottage at the heart of the little valley ahead. They kept the slow pace, still wary, while approaching the cottage. As Kithra candidly pointed out, it was the perfect place for an ambush, and they kept their wits about them and their weapons ready to be drawn. The ground evened out about twenty yards from the cottage, and they stopped for a moment to deliberate.  
  
“How should we best go about this,” Feli asked. She looked at Dorian and Will, and the former answered.  
  
“We should probably dismount and approach by foot. No weapons drawn, but ready to be if needed. We don’t know anything about this sorceress, so it’s probably best to tread carefully.” Felinthriel nodded at Dorian’s words, and they all dismounted. Feli put Dorian and Will in the lead, pointing out that they were both far better equipped to strike a bargain than she was, and they slowly made their way towards the little house.  
  
The cottage was built around the trunk of a tree and up against a huge rock. Its walls were made of stone and covered with moss and ivy, little woodland flowers sprouting out here and there. The roof, whatever it was made of, was completely covered with grass and moss, and some bushes grew on it. A branch from the tree had grown out of the small window in what must have been the loft. A small, moss covered well was positioned to the right of the cottage.

They were just a few yards away, when the door creaked and opened.


End file.
